Light As Seen Through Darkness
by Maverick375
Summary: In Paris, a young woman's life is spared by disavowed CIA operative Michael Christiansen, but her only chance to live lies in Italy, with the advanced medicine of the Social Welfare Agency. Some people live. Some die. Vengeance is immortal.
1. Chapter 1 to 4

Gunslinger Girl is a manga and anime series created by Yu Aida and this story takes place within in the canon of released volumes. All characters featured in Gunslinger Girl are intellectual property of Yu Aida and related publishers, and this fan-fict's author has made considerable effort to avoid altering or otherwise taking the canon characters out of their character as created. What little they are embellished is done so with respect of those characters in mind. Maverick375's original characters are his intellectual property and he would greatly appreciate any usage of them elsewhere to be approved by him. Thank you.

_This is my first major fan-fict and as such, I have made some writing errors common to non-professional authors. The first several chapters are short and perhaps lacking in substance, but as the story began to evolve, the feel smoothes out and becomes enjoyable. Above all, this is a story based on my need for a create outlet, and as such it took two years to complete, punctuated numerous times by months of writer's block. If it seems incomplete or unpolished in places, it is because I chose to leave it as such as an indicator of my personal improvement. Please enjoy the story for what it is: a tale of the human heart's boundless determination. -Mav_

Gunslinger Girl: Light As Seen Through Darkness

By: Maverick375

Chapter One:

"There's a feeling of satisfaction when you see the target in your sights drop to the ground, dead even before they hit. Your next thought should be to escape undetected and alive. Do you understand, Jamie?"

The young brunette looked up from behind her scope at her mentor, her "brother," and smiled softly. "Yes, Michael."

"Good. Now, slow-fire the next four rounds into the same location. Concentrate on not jerking the trigger and maintaining your cross-hairs on target until the wind lets off." He leaned into the spotting scope and watched the dust at the target's location drop as the breeze subsided. The rifle beside him fired, the sound sharp even through his muffs, and he watched the line the supersonic projectile created as it tore through the air. A hole appeared dead center in the X-ring of the target, a fatal shot even at six hundred meters. This girl had promise as a sniper if nothing else.

CRAAAK… Another shot from the .338 Lapua Magnum struck two inches left of the previous, well within the Minute Of Angle rating of the M24A3 rifle. He let her expend the magazine and clear the rifle before signaling for a target change by the field crew.

"How's the shoulder holding up?" She had torn out a part of a doorframe in the shoot-house the day before, dislocating her shoulder in her hurry to enter the room. She was still somewhat careless in her movements, always determined to please him by being the best. If she would just slow down, her skills and times would improve dramatically. Today's long-range rifle practice was meant to help her learn that, and was probably not getting through to her. If only she weren't so damn natural with guns.

"It's fine. It's not hurting any." Jamie clenched her hand a few times, feeling for any stiffness in the artificial muscles in her arm. The shoot-house had been frustrating. Twenty targets in five rooms, three hostages or other no-shoots in each. It was easy to blast away at a room full of bad guys, but picking your targets out among friendlies was much more difficult. Especially when you're behind on a clock. She had tossed the flash-bang into the last room after letting it tick off two of its three-second fuse, then dove in behind it. She had misjudged it and was caught in the doorway as it went off late, stunning her and throwing off her dive. Her shoulder slammed the doorframe and triggered the P90 sub-machine gun in her hand to fire, stitching two targets and one no-shoot with holes.

Worst of all, Michael was angry with her for what he perceived as showboating. She was only trying to keep from failing him by trying out different things she had read. On some subconscious level, she had to make him proud of her, and despite her best efforts, she was failing.

The field team signaled their task was complete and sought cover in the recessed bunkers. Two targets at five hundred meters were set up, far enough apart that she'd have to shift her firing position a bit to engage the second. Michael handed her a loaded magazine. "Engage the right target first with one round to the head, then swing to the left target. Alternate with one round each as fast as you can while maintaining accuracy. Reload and repeat the drill until the second mag is empty. Do you understand the course of fire?"

"Yes."

"Load and make ready." He set the beep on his shot timer.

Jamie slapped in the magazine and worked the bolt, then disengaged the safety as she settled in. "Ready."

"On the buzzer." He pressed the button. Two seconds ticked away like an eternity, then the high-pitched screech sounded.

The first shot broke clean and ripped through the target head at eye-level. Jamie swung the stock to the right and fired when the second target came into her reticle. The shot grazed the edge of the target head, but the recoil slapped the stock into her shoulder breaking her concentration. She swung to the right target again and jerked the trigger, throwing the shot wide left and slamming her shoulder again. She worked the bolt the third time and focused on getting the stock tight into her shoulder as she swung back to the left target. The crosshairs lined up, she pulled in tight and set for the shot, but the pain in her shoulder made her flinch, anticipating the coming assault. The shot broke and went low and left, shattering one post holding the target and sent it falling to it's right. She worked the bolt again, gritting her teeth through her own frustration, and took aim at the right target again, putting a round through the very top of the skull.

The bolt came open and she released the magazine, feeling for the next where she had placed it, but it wasn't there. She pulled away from the scope and looked down, seeing it nowhere.

"That's enough, Jamie. You can't go into the field shooting like that." His voice was a mix of his own frustration and anger. He grabbed the rifle from her roughly and loaded it, dropping to a kneeling position behind the sandbags they were using as a rest. He tapped the timer and fired a second later as the beep sounded, putting his first shot through the right target, above and touching Jamie's first shot.

Michael cycled the bolt and shifted target to the left one, lying on its side facing him. He took his time with his motions, but was not slow by any means. His second shot went through the head of the target, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. He shot three more times, each round going straight through the head of the respective target. He finally stood and secured the weapon and handed it to her rougher than he'd taken it.

"You completely missed what I said, Jamie. 'As fast as you can while keeping your accuracy'. Fast is slow and slow is fast. If you rush a shot, you miss. If you take your time, you won't have to make a second shot to fix your mistake. My time might have been longer, but every shot went where it was supposed to. You rushed through it and made one out of five. If you were supporting a raid, you would have cost our people their lives." He virtually spit the last sentence at her.

"Now… Pack up the rifle and double-time it, and your ass, to the armory. Clean the gun properly, get a shower, and grab some dinner. I'll let you know when I've decided what to do about this. Get moving."

"Yes, sir." She slung the rifle, picked up her equipment pack, and started the long run back to the training center's armory.

Michael stepped over to his car, stopping at the sight of Jean and Hilshire. They must have pulled up before the last drill started.

"Not as easy as you thought?" Hilshire stepped forward and handed him a bottle of water. It was a hot day, made more miserable by a lack of progress.

"I never thought it'd be easy. I just didn't think I'd have this kind of trouble with her." He watched her jog down the road towards the armory, almost a thousand yards away.

Jean glanced at the targets the field team drove by with. "What's the problem?"

"She's rushing through things. The shoot-house yesterday, the speed-drill today. Several other instances." He drained the bottle in one long pull. "She's got skill but she's too anxious to use it for it to work effectively." He sighed. "Maybe this last drill will help her understand that she has to slow down to be proficient and let the speed come to her."

"I want a full detailed report on your team's status. Strengths and weaknesses. We're coming up on an important set of missions and we're going to need every team in the field. We also cannot have any mistakes, so if she's not going to be ready, I need to know."

Michael glanced between the two, having a feeling where this was leading. "Two weeks. If she takes today's lesson to heart and learns from it, I need two weeks." It was probably a bit short of the time he really needed, but he had to give something hopeful.

Jean climbed in his car and waited for Hilshire. "I want that report tomorrow afternoon so I can go over it with the chief. We'll decide then whether you get your two weeks or if we send her in for conditioning immediately. Time is a luxury we can't afford to waste on failed efforts." They drove off in a cloud of dust towards the office complex.

Michael found another bottle of water in his car and sat down in the shade of it, staring into the bright blue sky. "How the hell did I end up here?"

Chapter Two: Paris Life

Michael Christiansen stared into the bright blue sky above the building rooftops, blocking the sounds of the city from his mind. This little café in Paris had become almost a home for him since he was released from the Central Intelligence Agency. One mistake- one costly mistake- had cost him his job, his home, and what little money he'd had.

His government wouldn't even spot the money to help him back. Even worse, they'd refused to give him a passport after they'd confiscated his fake Agency issued ones. The US Embassy had even refused to acknowledge him his citizenship status, so he couldn't get a passport through them.

Even if he had a passport and money, the French government probably wouldn't let him leave the country since they had no record of his arriving. Maybe his first mistake had actually been in refusing to stash a spare set of credentials in every country he frequented.

So here he was, stuck in France, barely a Euro to his name, doing odd jobs to survive. There weren't too many jobs for a dispossessed American, who has no work visa, who wasn't officially in a foreign country. He'd managed to find a café owner in the tourist district who was short on help and willing to turn a blind eye to his lack of background and now Michael waited tables, primarily for the American tourists whose French was worse than his own. With his earnings he was keeping a small room in the industrial district, which was a roof over his head at best. The owner of that place was shadier than himself, if that were possible.

Three young women sat down at one of his tables and motioned him over. His practiced eye glanced them over quickly. College-bound American teens on summer break, touring Europe together. Their naiveté was obvious. They actually kept their money in their purses and spent every free moment talking rather than paying attention to their surroundings. Add their clothes, mannerisms, and accents and you really couldn't stick out more as an American if you tried. They'd be begging the embassy for replacement passports before the week was out.

"Good evening, ladies. What can I get for you?" He smiled. Heck, why not? He could see almost every thing inside the one girl's low-cut top.

"You're American?" The blonde spoke up first.

"Yeah. The owner keeps me on so the tourists don't stress the French waiter's language skills. If you like I could attempt to speak English in a horrible French accent."  
>"Err…no thanks." This was the brunette. If his guess about the redhead's personality was correct, this one was the most sensible of the three. "We'll just have three coffees. We're just taking a break before hitting the local shops."<p>

"Certainly. I'll be back in a moment." He stepped to the counter and heard the blonde say what she thought about non-French waiters in a French café. The owner stepped over. "Three regular coffees, Pierre."

"For rich American brats, you would think they would buy more." Pierre poured the coffee and Michael added the usual American cream and sugar sides to his tray.

"Personally, I'm surprised they made it from the airport with their wallets intact. They don't seem like the bright type. Well… the brunette seems smart enough, if inexperienced." Michael balanced the tray carefully and stepped over to the trio. "Three regular French coffees. Anything else I can get for you?"

The redhead looked up from her first sip. "Do you know of any great rave clubs here?"

Michael smiled honestly, having been right on his first impressions of her. "Well, the closest one would be two streets that way," he pointed, " but probably the best I've heard of is down by the industrial park. They turned an old warehouse into a club and evidently got it right because it's packed every night they're open." He wrote down the address in French and English and handed it to them. Some more tourists sat down at another table while he'd been chatting. "Excuse me ladies, duty calls."

"Thanks."

By the time he'd finished dealing with a large party of older tourists, the girls had gone, but had tipped nicely, even scribbling their thanks on the check. Maybe they were naïve, but they weren't so bad. He was disavowed and stuck here, but it was nice to know that some Americans could stick together.

It was after midnight by the time he and Pierre had closed shop and cleaned up. The day had been good for tips and the month's rent was paid now, so any money he pulled in was practically luxury. That was certainly better than the previous month when he'd nearly collapsed from malnutrition trying to make the rent.

The night had turned cold, almost unseasonable for summer, and the lack of moon seemed to add a foreboding feeling to the air. He didn't take the underground, preferring to walk where he had room to run if needed, as well as save some cash. It was a decent length to walk, but it wasn't anything he hadn't done before in less amicable circumstances.

His senses went on full alert as he approached his block. The breeze that seemed to chill him to the bone had dropped off, but he felt colder still. This section was poorly lit and dark alleys made for excellent hiding places for muggers and the like. He glanced around him quickly, peering into the darkness for signs of danger and his keen ears could just barely hear the thumping of the bass in the club, several streets over.

One of the most important things you learn in the espionage business is how to recognize danger. How to spot a tail and to see through simple disguises like growing a beard or a haircut and color. How to feel your way out of a bad spot before you get into it. Right now, he was sensing danger, but could not tell what it was or where it was coming from. It was simply a feeling of things not being right or safe.

He picked up the pace and made a round about course towards his flat, taking him past some empty warehouses. The homeless would take up residence in these until the owners or police kicked them out. Usually they were locked up pretty tight, so an open door on one caught his eye as he passed. The image he had seen took a moment to register in his mind, but it made him do a double take at the door and he stepped back to peer inside.

There was a pair of halogen work-lamps set-up in front of a large crate and the whole scene was bathed in crimson red, with the victims lying still on the floor. Blood was everywhere, yet he felt compelled to get closer, wondering what it was he was seeing. The scene became clear as his mind identified what he was looking at. It looked odd because it wasn't the normal way people looked, even in death. Parts were everywhere; a finger here, a foot there… One of the victims was largely intact, but even she was missing an arm and leg. Her soft brown hair was matted and caked with blood, while large spots were missing, having been pulled out.

Wait…Brown. "No…" Michael looked around the scene and spotted a head of red hair next to the large crate. Blondie was draped backwards over a barrel, her own intestines wrapped around her throat. "Jesus…" he took two steps back, spun around, and vomited, the smell of blood now overpowering. Nothing he'd seen in the agency had been like this. Nothing. He'd seen info from Interpol about such cases, but the pictures had thankfully been left out. In all his experience there was nothing to even compare this to, and that made him even sicker. Six hour ago these girls had been alive and smiling, their lives shining brightly ahead of them. Now they were dead in a warehouse of a city they had probably not had time to find a hotel in.

Michael staggered to the door and welcomed the fresh air in his face. He wiped the bile from his lips and pulled out his cell phone. It wasn't operable for regular calls, but the emergency number here worked independent of the service, just like back in the states. He concentrated on his French so he wouldn't sound like a complete loon.

"Metro police, what is your emergency?"

"Warehouse 384…" he hadn't noticed how hard of a time he was having keeping his stomach back down until now. He swallowed a few times before continuing. "Multiple bodies, blood everywhere. Send police."

"Can you repeat that, sir? You say there's been a murder there?"

"Yes! Send police qui-" He strained to hear. He thought he'd heard- Yes, a moan. Michael ran to the brunette and rolled her over. She was covered in her own blood, her right eye was missing, and her teeth had been smashed, but she was breathing in choking gasps through the bruises.

"Damn it, send an ambulance! One of them is still alive!"

Chapter 3: The Social Welfare Agency

The Parisian police were being kind, Michael knew. Rather than drag him immediately down to the station for booking and interrogation, they believed his account of the events and allowed him to go to the hospital as a pseudo-chaperone for the survivor. After all, if she started talking she'd probably prefer an American, or even better was a person she knew, if only a few hours earlier.

He glanced at his guard, a local policeman. While they might believe the story, they were taking no chances. A man in a suit and carrying a briefcase stepped off the elevator and over to them, flashing a set of credentials at the officer along with some whispered words. The officer then stepped down the hall to the elevator and minded his own business.

"Bradley Williams, embassy attaché." He extended his hand but the gesture was not returned.

"You'll excuse me, Mr. Williams, but my dealings with the embassy have not been very encouraging lately. Couple that with tonight's events and I'm sure you'll understand."

"Certainly, Mr. Christiansen. My apologies for the issues with your passport, but we're working as fast as we can on it." The look on his face told Michael everything he needed to know. If this guy wasn't an agency man, then he was most certainly in on the reason why his papers were being held up. "As it stands, you're probably not going anywhere until the Paris police and Interpol finish asking you a lot of questions about tonight. They've requested information from us about you, and we've of course given them nothing but promises to look into it.

"I'm innocent of any wrongdoing. I met those girls this evening at the café I work at. They asked me for the best rave club in the city and I told them about the one they went to. I turned my back to help some customers and when I turned around again, they were gone. They left me about ten bucks worth of a tip on their three coffees, along with handwritten thanks. I turned those in to the cops. I have nothing to hide."

Mr. Williams seemed unconcerned. "Then you stumbled upon the scene of a multiple murder of those same girls, only two blocks from your house. While not damning, I would say it's suspicious and worth looking into."

Michael rubbed his face and sighed. "Yeah, I'd say that too. You said Interpol is looking into this?"

"Yes. They have some concerns this might link in with some snuff-film makers they've been trying to track down. I've seen the photos," he waved a folder. "This is not bedtime reading material."

"I was there, I know. Anyway, have you picked up the girls' info? I never did catch their names at the café." It seemed the least he could do to remember them was to learn their names. At least then they'd stop being just "Blondie, Red, and Brunette."

"Yeah. Angela Traynor, age nineteen, blonde hair, blue eyes. Carol O'Malley, age eighteen, red hair, green eyes. Janet Wells, age seventeen, brown hair, blue eyes. All were from the Springfield, Illinois area and were planning to attend the same college together. The first two have family, but Miss Wells there was orphaned in January when her parents were killed in a car accident. She has no other relatives listed and the local police say she was living on her own. If she makes it, she'll turn eighteen next month."

"What a waste."

"All too common lately, I'm afraid." The doctor stepped from the ICU room and over to them. He looked about fifty and his English was excellent. "This is the only victim that has been brought in alive, but that's not going to last. She won't make it through the week. She's stable for the time being, but her liver is failing and the other injuries would make a transplant attempt fatal. There's no way to get a transplant in time anyway. It's also only a matter of time before her other organs fail from their damage state. Any family?"

"No, doctor. Her only family was killed in a car wreck in January." Mr. Williams look almost genuinely touched. Michael stared at her through the window, seeing only bandages and tubes.

"Nothing can be done?"

"Nothing here. There's a few doctors in Italy working with artificial organs that have been having mixed luck. One of them was over last year for a convention, a Dr. Bergonzi, I believe. He was testing a new type of artificial heart and had some initial designs on a liver. If there's a chance for this woman, it'd probably be with his research." He'd also heard the selection process was extremely detailed, so she probably wouldn't be picked anyway. In medical testing, you picked subjects with as few bad variables as possible, and this woman was one bad variable after another. It seemed cold to say that, but you had to look at these things clinically.

Michael looked at the attaché. "If we can get this Bergonzi on board, will there be any issue getting her to Italy?"

"I don't see why there would. It's the responsibility of the US Embassy to help her citizens when they're in trouble overseas." He seemed to smile mockingly at Michael.

"Please understand that I'm making no promises here. I only know him as a professional and there's not likely a way I could convince him if he says no, but it's a chance she doesn't otherwise have." The doctor always hated giving hope in cases where there was almost none. It seemed crueler than simply being up front with the truth. He'd had terminal cancer patients with more of a chance than her, but any life was worth a phone call. "I'll give him a call." He went to his office and flipped through his contact book, looking for the name, noting that he'd written down that the number he had was for the Social Welfare Agency in Italy. Humph, at least he had government backing.

"Social Welfare Agency."

"Hello, this is Doctor Loiselle in Paris. I was calling to speak to Doctor Bergonzi about a possible patient for his research."

"Please hold, Doctor, while I check if he's available."

"The second of the next generation cyborgs will be ready in a month but we need to get a third into the pipeline next week or the delay will push us into the end of next year for a full-strength squad. The instability of the first gens is becoming more of a concern. Triela and Henrietta are already showing marked lapses in memory, and they're the most effective of the group. We're bound to lose another one within the year, either through retirement or fatality in combat."

The design team was together for their weekly meeting. Things were going well enough with the cyborgs, but in development you never really take a rest. Things had to get better with new revisions.

"Petra is coming along nicely, Doctor. We've seen no real issues with the implants and the conditioning seems adequate to meet our expectations." Dr. Ziliani's prosthetic work was coming along and he'd already started taking notes for the third-gen design ideas.

A secretary stepped in quietly. "Excuse me, Doctor Bergonzi, you have a call from Paris. A Doctor Loiselle, who says he has a possible patient for you."

"Loiselle…. Maybe from the seminar. Get his number and I'll call him back."

"Yes, sir." She stepped away, but was stopped by Ziliani.

"Go ahead and take it. Maybe it's the patient we've been hoping for."

Bergonzi sighed. "More likely just another charity case. I get two a week from around Europe. I'll be back in a minute." He stepped down the hall to his office and picked the line up on his speakerphone. "This is Doctor Bergonzi, what can I do for you?"

"This is Doctor Loiselle in Paris. I have a patient here who might be in your line."

"What can you tell me about them?" He leaned back, knowing he was going to reject it, so why take notes?

"Female, age 17, an American. She was the victim of one of our snuff-film gangs. She's still alive, but the damage to her liver is extensive and she won't last the week. She's also short an eye, an arm and leg. She hasn't regained consciousness yet, and I don't know if she will."

"Family?" Bergonzi pulled out a notepad. This might be a good one after all.

"None. She was left orphaned early this year, and her friends didn't survive the attack. About the only person who knows her is this American that was working in a café she visited. He's sort of taken to being her guardian."

"Mm-hmm. Doctor Loiselle, thank you. I'm going to consult with my staff and I'll call you back later today with our decision. What is a number I can reach you by?"

"Thank you, Doctor." He gave the hospital number with extension. He ended the call and stepped out to the waiting room to give the hopeful news.

"I think we have one, people." The staff looked up from their papers at his excited tone. He started scribbling on the white-board on the wall. "A female in decent physical health who was a snuff-film gang victim. She's critical and not expected to survive the week. Her only contact is a café worker she met earlier on the day of the attack. We might not have time for the usual series of compatibility tests, but if you people think we can do this one, I'd like to try."

"What's her main risk right now?" Louis Duvalier spoke up from his corner of the table.

"Circulatory failure- Liver, heart, lungs. Virtually every part of her internals was damaged. If anything, this opportunity could test the viability of the commercial applications of our research. But this also dovetails nicely with our schedule demand for the next cyborg."

Ziliani looked around at the others. "I think we should try. We'll send the advanced team for the initial compatibility review. If they give the green light, then we'll skip the remainder and proceed with the cyberization. All agreed?"

The others at the table nodded and left the table to make their own preparations.

Ziliani looked at Bergonzi. "Good luck, you're going to need it."

"I'll consider it a challenge."

Jean leaned against the chief's desk, flipping through the folder for the new cyborg. The team had put it together quickly, and while not as complete as previous ones, it was compelling. The new design of liver was being implemented, a stronger heart, greater lung capacity, better hearing, and the reinforced eye-sockets they'd been discussing.

"The muscular details are primarily the same as the first model-twos, but given the injuries this candidate has sustained, we focused on the internal systems and the new designs' implementation. Endurance will likely be a forty-percent increase, while the changes to the eyes and ears will yield substantially greater results." Bergonzi was proud of his team. They had put together the computer draft of a full cyborg before lunch. Some aspects like height and appearance were subject to change, but the important parts were complete.

The chief glanced through the overview at the front and glanced at Jean, whose face was empty and unreadable as ever. "Stability?" The operational lives on the cyborgs were little pay-off for the time and money spent. The Gen-two's were better, but still not profitable.

"At best, same as the previous two. At worst: a maintenance nightmare. The usual series of compatibility tests would weed that out, but we're short on time and who is to say the new organs will actually perform to our expectations. If it helps, consider this a test-bed for the Gen-Three cyborgs' internals. We might have to make some changes, but probably nothing major. This will save us time on the start-up for that program."

"We'll need a handler, chief. We don't have any prospective candidates at the moment."

"We have a little time for that, Jean. Bergonzi, get your advanced team ready. Jean, you go and take Hilshire and Triela with you. We've had Intel that Padania has links to some of these snuff-film rings, and if there's a French connection, we want everything we can find on that also."

"Are you sure they're the best choice, given their past?" Hilshire's heart had hardened the night he'd found Triela much as this new girl had been. There were still times that he seemed to be on the edge of losing control."

"Know anyone that hates those slime more than he? Or would you rather take Jose with you?"

"No, chief, I don't, and I don't think it's something my brother could stomach. I'll leave immediately for Paris to make arrangements for the tech-team arrival."

Chapter 4: Second Chance

"Doctor Loiselle? I'm Doctor Bergonzi from the Social Welfare Agency. We spoke on the phone."

"Yes yes, welcome to Paris." He was genuinely glad to see him. The girl's condition had worsened since the call confirming their interest, and what had been a week's survival had turned into days at best.

"My team is still unpacking at the hotel, but they'll be here soon to look her over. We have high hopes for her." Jean and Rico stepped off the elevator at that moment and the little girl glanced about the hall, looking for danger to her handler. If you watched them long enough, you could see the lack of vibrant life in their eyes. When they were on the job, anyway.

"Good afternoon. I'm Jean, I'm with the agency."

"Hello." Loiselle glanced down at Rico who had already sized him up and turned her attention to the waiting room down the hall where a man was sitting with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. It almost looked like he was crying. Loiselle followed her gaze and smiled softly. "Poor guy. Ended up in the right place at the right time and saved a life, only to see things worsen. He has not left, and I doubt he's slept."

"That's the American you told me about?" Bergonzi had met his share of Americans, primarily medical in profession. They were excellent doctors, and always seem to have hope, even if it was unwarranted.

"Yes. He seems a bit odd, though. The US Embassy came in first thing and had a few words with him. I gather that he's been stuck here in France due to some paperwork over his replacement passport. Normally it takes a day or two to get one approved, but he's been here a year or so. He's latched onto this victim in a guardian role, saying that she should have an American there should she wake up."

Jean stepped down the hall to the waiting room with Rico close in tow. Maybe he just wanted a free ride home with a coffin. Maybe.

The television was on a channel showing the European Football league. "What's the score?" He'd used his cleanest English. In some places in the United States, he'd passed as a rich American.

"London up by a field goal." Michael looked up at Jean and then at Rico. The man could have been anything, but the little girl was odd. Very alert and attentive, rather than bored or frightened like children were in hospitals.

"You must be the 'Guardian Angel' of that girl we've heard about." Jean sat down across from him and Rico stood against the doorway, watching the hall.

"More like the 'Angel of Death'. If I hadn't recommended that club, they'd probably still be alive."

"Is that the reason why you've been waiting for her to recover? To say you're sorry?" Whatever his usual personality, Jean could act with the best of stage performers. This time he was playing the nice guy but the sharp wit came out without thinking.

Michael's head popped back up with a look that could kill, but he managed to rein it in. "Something like that, I guess."

"I'm Jean Croce, from the Italian Social Welfare Agency. We came to see if we could help this girl, and it seems we're none too soon."

Michael took a closer look at the man across from him. Incredible English skills, even sounding like a Boston Blueblood, a very good acting job on the personality, and a little girl that seemed almost like a bodyguard.

"Who are you with? Intel? Carabinieri? Guardia di Finanza?" He was very suspicious now. Things weren't adding up all of a sudden.

"None of those, fortunately. Being in the Carabinieri right now is like painting a target on your back. Lets just say that the government is funding the Agency, and I'm part of protecting the investment. We really want to help that girl because her survival helps us. We have a member of our staff who was a victim of the same type of crime. Getting a survivor's information helps the authorities to track them down, and we're all about that."

"Uh-huh. And is this 'bring your daughter to work' day?" He nodded at Rico who glanced over momentarily.

"Sister, actually. She hadn't been on a trip with me for some time, and I felt a trip to Paris was something she'd enjoy, if only briefly." He could see the man wasn't buying the lines. While you only had to be of a suspicious nature to not believe it, a skilled operator could read into it. "You seem distrustful, Mister..."

"Christiansen. Michael Christiansen. It's nothing personal, Mister Croce, but I can spot an intelligence guy when I see one. It's the collection of data that leads to a conclusion. Want me to spell it out for you?"

"Please. This should be interesting."

"First, your vibe's all wrong. You might seem pleasant, but your body language is giving off negative waves. You're not comfortable enough being pleasant or chatty, you follow me?" Jean shrugged. "Second: You're using an American accent, not English, despite the claim you're Italian. So either you schooled in Boston or you're practiced at fooling people and expecting them to believe it. Third: The little girl is a little off from what one would expect. She's taken up guard at the door, rather than leaning on it in boredom. Her eyes are constantly in motion, looking for dangers. She also has her coat unbuttoned far enough to have quick and easy access inside. The only people I've seen like that are protection agents. So, Jean, what's the score?"

"You're very perceptive, for an American. Your file at the CIA is a bit less gracious towards you."

That stunned Michael. How had this guy gotten his file? It couldn't have been through Langley, so it must have been the embassy. What the hell...

"No counter to that? I was hoping for a bit more smart-ass American attitude, but I guess you'll have to do. We're leaving with the girl tonight. I'm offering you a job and maybe even a chance to find the scum that did that to her. If you don't want it, you can stay here and serve coffee to tourists." He stood and pulled his business card from his pocket, placing it on the table.

"What kind of job?"

"Does it matter? Take a few hours to think about it, and then call me if you're interested."

"Who is he?" There was a slight bit of noise in the Chief's voice from the secured signal on Jean's phone. He'd have to get it looked at when he got back, but for now it was only an annoyance.

"He's disavowed CIA. He compromised a major operation in Calais and was cut off, and the embassy has a block on issuing him a new passport, so he's been here a year. A contact gave me the info for the usual payoff. It'll be on my expense list."

"If he made a mistake, why do you think we should take him?" Jean was a professional, but his occasional turn to his instincts proved worthwhile in the long run.

" We need a handler, and up until his incident, Mr. Christiansen was everything we look for. His attachment to the girl is a bit strong, but he will probably agree to anything if we give him a hunting license for the kinds of people that kill kids."

"We're not police, Jean. Padania is our target." Losing sight of one's mission is often fatal.

"Hilshire turned up a connection to Padania in Paris. He still tracking it down, but there's money from black market film sales being funneled to several different terrorist organizations. As soon as he's back, we'll get the Intel teams started on it and see what we can turn up."

The Chief made a note for the Intel team to clear their schedules for the next few weeks. "How soon are you returning to Italy?"

"The doctors say the subject will be ready in a few hours and we have a 9 p.m. take-off scheduled. Hilshire said not to wait for him."

"Very good. I'll see you when you get back. We'll have our interview with Mister Christiansen tomorrow morning."

"Understood." He ended the call and looked at Rico who was packing her equipment away. "What do you think of Christiansen, Rico?"

"Umm... He seems nice, but I feel uncomfortable near him. Maybe it's just because I haven't gotten to know him well enough yet."

"Did you feel him to be a threat while we were talking with him?"

"Not really. He wasn't armed, and in the time he'd take to stand up or draw from that position, I could have stopped him any number of ways." She smiled went back to packing her things, softly humming to herself. Jean's phone rang and the number was from the payphone across the street. You research these things when your life may depend on it.

"Yeah?"

"I'm in. But before you consider treating me like a rusty fifth-wheel, look under the bed." The line disconnected and Jean's blood chilled suddenly.

"Rico... Look under the bed carefully." She ducked down and lifted the edge of the cover.

"There's a box with a note." She looked up at him, entirely in danger mode and waiting for instructions.

"Pull it out slowly and gently." The edge of the box came into view and he relaxed. The flaps had been cut off both ends leaving the rectangle of the sides. It was empty and a folded note was taped to the top. Jean removed it and read the one word on the sheet-"KABOOM!"

"Rico, had the room been disturbed since we left it this morning?"

"No. All of the tells we placed were still there."

He smiled and shook his head, feeling a bit better about his choice. "Americans..."

Christiansen smiled to himself as he started back to his apartment to pack. A good agent knew how to protect himself from those who would hunt him. The best agents can get past those protections.

The operation was already in motion and everyone's watches were ticking the final seconds off before the building would go up. The bastard deserved to die for killing the Agency informants and their families like sheep at a slaughter.

Michael had been at the scene, smelled the blood, and knew that they should have gotten them out before that could have happened. The need for information had trumped the lives on the line, and Nicollette had once again marched off to do her part for her country. Only this time the bad-guys caught up to her, and she had paid dearly.

Well, now the bastard that had executed her and her family was about to get a Semtex 'welcome home' from Uncle Sam. But something was suddenly wrong. Just after the target had entered the house, some kids started playing in the street. The bomb was wired to the hall door to the office, the first place the mark would go after getting home. There were only seconds... Michael ordered agents in to get the kids out, but just as they reached them, the windows and doors of the house blew outward and the flames of hell erupted from them, torching everything in the narrow street, including the agents and kids. Their screams seemed to merge with the sounds of sirens, and the smell of burning flesh assaulted him at his vantage point overlooking the alley. How could a good intention turn so bad?

The sun was shining through the windows directly onto his face, and had woken him from the disturbing dream he'd had. Michael rubbed his eyes and the faces of dead friends faded slowly away, along with the fog in his head, as he got his bearings.

The Social Welfare Agency. The walls were plain, the bed comfortable enough, and the room itself was the size of a hotel room. A desk and bookcase were to one side in a designated work area. It wasn't too bad, and certainly a palace compared to his previous lodgings. Things were finally looking up for the first time since he was cut loose.

The previous night seemed a blur between the hospital, airport, and getting on the plane. Maybe it was because he hadn't slept, but it all seemed to blend together in a sort of hash of faces, sounds, and the smell of jet fuel.

The jet had landed in darkness during the night, and once the lights of the city were left behind, he could see almost nothing of the landscape around him. The glow of Rome in the distance gave him some understanding of the remote location, but that was all. Jean had shown him to a room and told him to be ready for a meeting at nine, presumably to get an idea about what his job would be here.

He had lain awake for an hour thinking about the people he'd met so far. Jean was an all-purpose Intel guy, it seemed. An operator... Getting his hands dirty and telling others to seemed to be his job. Hilshire was different. He and another little girl named Triela had boarded the plane just before take-off and discussed things in hushed tones with Jean. Hilshire seemed to be a doer kind of guy. He took Jean's orders, did things, and then reported back. He also had a lot more personality than Jean. Triela and Rico had talked excitedly for a short while, and then had fallen asleep as they began the cruise at altitude. "What was with the little girls, here" Michael had wondered at the time.

It was almost eight when he emerged from his room, showered, shaved, and in a suit that had been hanging on his bathroom door when he'd emerged. A woman in her early thirties and dressed casually greeted him a few yards down the hall.

"Good morning, you must be Michael. I'm Priscilla, one of the Intel-team analysts. Did you sleep well?" Her English was decent and her accent cute, lending itself to her attractiveness.

Michael shook her offered hand. "Good morning. Yes, I did well enough. It's the first decent bed I've had in more than a year, but I'll take the stiffness of a new bed over the stiffness of an old one any day."

She laughed softly. "It looks like the suit fits well enough. I had to guess at your measurements, but you looked like Jose's size and build, so I cheated and checked his labels."

"It fits fine, thanks. Is there some place here I can eat before my meeting? I haven't had much in the past several days and the last thing I need is a noisemaker for a stomach."

She smiled and motioned down the hall. "I was just going to ask you to join me in the cafeteria. Jean asked me to lead you around until the meeting and since my data sheets were starting to look alien, I figured I could use a break."

The place seemed like a museum, with art on the walls and polished marble floors. He also spotted camera fixtures in strategic points. Well, if it housed intelligence people, it was going to be wired like a Christmas tree.

They entered the cafeteria and picked out their meals. It was overly elaborate for a simple cafeteria and certainly spoke of the type of funding they had. Michael loaded up on eggs and ham while Priscilla had only coffee and cereal, and they picked spots in the center of the room. He caught sight of four girls at a table by the courtyard windows. Triela and Rico were talking animatedly with a small girl with dark hair and a dress and a taller girl with glasses and workout clothes on. It was a scene he'd expect to see in an elementary school.

"Those girls..." He trailed off, is mind still chewing on what he could gain from watching them.

"They're something, aren't they? When Henrietta plays her violin, the sound seems to whisper through the halls. I'll step out of the office to hear that sound and it makes me feel like I'm somewhere else, somewhere in the past." Priscilla's eyes had a daydreaming look.

"Hmm. You're a romantic."

"Fallen Angel of Love, I'm afraid." She came back from her daydream and went back to eating her cereal.

"But why are they here? I've heard of employers offering up daycare, but this seems a bit much."

"Mm... You don't know?" Her previously carefree tone took on a much more guarded manner.

"I just got in last night, and Jean hasn't said much about it."

"That's Jean for you. I'm sure you will get the whole idea when you talk to Chief Lorenzo. My advice is to be upfront and honest, and not try to make him like you. If you have something to say, he listens. It had just better be worth his time."

"He sounds like a decent enough guy." Michael's eyes wandered back over to the girls, still trying to figure them out. He had suspected Rico to be armed at the hospital, but had no proof. If she were, that made her a protector of Jean. Or maybe an attack dog. It was hard to tell. It just didn't make sense. Why would you have a little girl as a bodyguard? His thinking was getting him no-where, and Priscilla was saying something, so he focused on the present again.

"What kind of work did you do?"

"Intel mainly. A little covert data acquisition, some participation in raids, and sometimes directing them. The CIA was a place where a variety of skills came in handy at times."

"That kind of flexibility will help you here." She looked at her watch and stood. "Time for the meeting. Follow me."

"All'estremità della terra." At least she smiled a bit at that.

Lorenzo's office was larger than his entire room, Michael noted, but it wasn't a room for show as some political figures had. Real business of life and death was done here and the atmosphere of the room attested to it. It was clean and organized, but like the avid reader who stacks their books in a tower reaching from floor to ceiling. Things were accessible and easily found, but the best bits were kept closer. The few piles of papers and folders were within the occupant's grasp but the blotter of the rich red-oak desk was empty save one folder: Michael's CIA docket.

"Good morning, Mr. Christiansen." He stood to shake hands then motioned to the high-backed chair across from him. "Please, have a seat. This isn't an interview so much as an assignment briefing, so we'll skip further pleasantries."

"Yes, sir." Michael sat down, feeling the slick and cold texture of the leather chair. Jean stepped in with another folder and placed it on the desk, then took a spot by the window behind Lorenzo, almost like a faithful dog might.

"Your dossier is interesting reading. You were a promising operative for Langley, including a citation for valor for the Prague incident. That was a nasty bit of business, wasn't it? We had some information pass our way about it at the time and were surprised at the American reaction. Given your political climate, such an outright assault was hardly something that could get out to the public. How many of those terrorists did your teams kill?"

"Fifty-six," Michael lied.

"Sixty-one. Five turned up in the south quarter the next morning looking like frogs on a biology student's tray. It's one thing to put a bullet in a person's head to send a message to their masters, but a medieval flaying has a flair that one wouldn't expect from your 'Civilized' intelligence service."

"I had nothing to do with that operation." Michael broke eye contact and glanced to the side during that response. "I took two shots to my ballistic vest and one to my shoulder from a Forty-four Magnum revolver during the raid. I spent a week in the base hospital and four months doing rehab."

He had also told his team to send a special message to the group that had killed three of their agents the month before and mailed them to the embassy in large suitcases. The raid was an adequate response to the information they had and the threat posed, but the five examples that were made had the effect of forcing the remaining terrorists to leave the city or go into hiding, certain they were dealing with Israelis rather than Americans. It was a nice coup and netted a ton of intelligence that was left behind in haste.

"But a citation for valor?"

"I saved four agents that were pinned down in a room and took the three rounds in the process."

"How many terrorists had them pinned down?"

"Seven. Four were in the next room and three at the top of the stairs. Before you ask, I only had my 1911, chambered and on a full mag."

"You dispatched seven targets with eight rounds?" Jean spoke up, thinking this had to be an exaggeration.

"No. I took out the four in the room and one as he came down the stairs. The other agents took the remaining two after the one guy caught me staring at a slide-lock. I lost track of my round-count," he admitted sheepishly. He made it a habit to use only high-capacity guns after that.

"You personally conducted numerous 'after hours' searches of other governments' buildings, and planned the operation in Stockholm. That went down without a hitch and caught you the leading Chinese intelligence agent. Then there was the bombing in Calais... You moved your team members into a blast zone to save kids from becoming collateral damage."

"I was told that collateral damage was unacceptable. I also thought I had ten more seconds."

"And you lost the kids, the two agents, and your country cut you off rather than bring you back for imprisonment. Why do you suppose that is?" Lorenzo leaned back, enjoying this a bit. It was like reading a spy novel.

"They thought the friends of that dirt-bag would find me sooner than later. Truth be told, they did. I'm just faster than they were."

Lorenzo looked at Jean who nodded that he was satisfied. "Your resourcefulness is impressive in itself, but your skills and operational experience will certainly be an asset to us. Welcome to Section 2."

Michael nodded; finally getting the feeling that they'd treat him like the professional he had shown himself to be. "I have a question, if you don't mind me asking."

"Please."

"What's with the little girls?"

"Lets start simple. Section 2 is an intelligence and operations group tasked with anti-terrorism work. We have agents, like yourself and Jean here, that are skilled at this field. But conducting operations is costly, as you also know. In order to reduce the costs of such operations, we have paired up some agents with cyborgs who are designed to do the dirty work. Our country's leap to the fore-front of the medical field is due primarily to cybernetic research done here."

"You're saying that Rico and the others are machines?"

"Mostly machine. The brain and other required portions are certainly human, but we re-make their bodies, down to the skeletons if necessary."

"But... They're just kids." Michael was not sick yet, but felt himself heading in that direction. What had he gotten himself into?

"They were children that had no hope of survival. Rico was a little girl who, from birth, could not use her body. Triela was the survivor of a brutal attack and left for dead. These girls had no hope, but through us, they have a body that works and a purpose to their lives." Lorenzo had long tired of justifying his organization.

"And they protect the agents?"

"Yes. They also lead and conduct assaults. The concept is hard to grasp initially, but if you observe them a short time, you'll see that they do not suffer undue hardships and they are happy to follow their handler's orders."

"It's just a bit hard to believe." The pieces came together about Rico and Jean, and then suddenly the young woman he'd saved. "And Janet Wells?"

"She is to be one of our next-generation cyborgs. The original techniques could only be performed on the younger children but our process and technology has progressed some ways. Again, we choose those who would have no other chance to live. We are not depriving anyone of his or her life or livelihood. You might even say we're giving them a second chance at life, and requiring a payoff from our efforts."

"And how do I fit in?"

"The new cyborg will need a handler; someone to teach them to be effective in the field. We teach them basic life skills and make them loyal, but the skills they use will be up to you to teach and promote."

" _Make_ them loyal?" He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

"We use a chemical brainwashing process to make them usable. Mostly that is essential to adjust to the implants, as the body has to learn new physical limits and control, but it also allows us to implant information on who's friend and foe, their new identity, and basic weapons info. Their memories of everything before are wiped at a conscious level, though we've seen that the memories are still available to the unconscious mind, often coming back in the form of dreams."

Jean stepped forward and handed Michael the new cyborg's design file. "Please understand, Mr. Christiansen, the cyborgs are programmed to defend their handlers with their bodies and lives if necessary. It has to be this way, or they would cease to be useful for our purpose. Doubt and self-determination would quickly build to interfere with their work. Even with the current conditioning set there are times when their emotions begin to cloud their decision making process. It takes only a reminder to get them back on track, but that is why they have to have a handler- to keep them on task. As a team the fratellos can be incredibly effective. On their own, the cyborgs can manage only so far."

"I see." It made sense, but he'd still have to get used to the idea. It seemed so unnatural to him to have a little girl taking bullets for a grown man. He opened the folder and found a selection form on the top. "What's this?"

"That is your part in the design process. The name, hair color, eye color, height, and numerous other items are up for your choosing. You can give that to the people in the design lab when you're ready, but don't delay on it too long. The timetable for a new unit is tight and the training time can be extensive."

"I understand. What do I do in the meantime?"

"I suggest you begin by becoming fluent in Italian. All of our data comes in that way and in a pinch we cannot waste time translating." Jean handed him a schedule for the next week that included refresher training in firearms and unarmed combat. "I'll speak with Hilshire and see if we can't have Triela work with you some. She's good with multiple languages and has a teacher's mentality, so long as you're willing to learn."

Lorenzo nodded. Jean was incredibly efficient in organizational matters. "We'll also work you into the intelligence team for the time being. Another mind is always helpful there. "Now to your cover... As a member of Section Two, you'll have a lot of weight to throw around in Italy, but once you're outside our area of influence you'll have to make do as an American in Interpol. Consider it a reason to push yourself on your Italian. Until you can pass for one, you're of limited operational use when alone. Any questions?"

Michael thought things through and figured any other details he would or could find out. "No, sir. I think that'll do for now." He stood and had stepped towards the door when Jean stopped him.

"One question for you, Mr. Christiansen. That box you placed in my room in Paris. When did you put it there?"

"I followed you from the hospital, waited until you left again, then broke in to find out something about you. I figured a fake bomb might help lend some credit to my reputation. Anything else?"

"No, thank you. I'll arrange for an introduction to the Intel team this afternoon."

"Alright." He walked out the door, leaving it open behind him...

"Yeah... That's how I ended up here. I should have said 'no', walked away, and slammed the door behind me." Michael Christiansen took the last swig of water and glanced at the now-setting sun, the hot feel of it's rays a reminder that he'd probably be a bit sunburned on his face the next day.

Sometimes it was relaxing to just sit and think. He had focused so intently on training his cyborg for the past four months that he hadn't taken any time for himself. The daily drills, the language lessons, and the constant shifting of focus from one item to the next had left him exhausted mentally, and now that he had a few moments to reflect on it, he could see where both his and Jamie's problems were. They needed time away from the forced learning.


	2. Chapter 5 to 7

Chapter 5: A Night on the Town

Michael stepped into the armory, relishing the cloud of cool air as he stepped in the doors.

"Mr. Christiansen, I was wondering if you were going to come in this evening. Your girl stormed in here with that rifle, had it stripped in a minute, cleaned spotless, and reassembled in ten. She looked pretty angry."

"I may have been a bit blunt in my teaching today. Has my order come in yet?"

"On the afternoon truck. I have to say that I'm surprised that you didn't stick with the usual styles. Most of the handlers stick with European pistols and sub-machine guns." He pulled a long case and two smaller ones from the table behind him. "Here you are. A Smith & Wesson M&P40 full-size with ten spare magazines, a Walther PPS also with ten spares, and the Alexander Arms AR-15 in .50 Beowulf. We received both the standard seven-round magazines and a pair of the new twelve-round magazines. We also have a choice of holsters for you."

"Excellent. Have you fired the fifty Beo?"

"Only at the military range. Seems like a bit much for an assault gun."

"This is my trunk gun. It's for those times when we need stopping power against a vehicle, like a bullet-proof Ferrari."

He picked up several boxes of ammo for the pistols and went into the indoor range. This late in the day it was deserted and he picked the nearest stall to the door. The manufacturers had broken in both guns for reliability and Michael saw that everything was in order with no malfunctions on either. The M&P fit perfectly into its holster and settled into the small of his back comfortably, and the little Walther he placed in its case.

"Everything to your liking, Mr. Christiansen?"

"Certainly is." He carried the three guns to his car and settled the rifle into the cradle he'd mounted in the trunk. Someone in the backseat could access the rifle from there, but you had to unlock the cradle to pull the rifle from the open trunk. He put a full magazine in the rifle and set two more next to it, linked together with a clamp.

Michael pulled into a parking spot by the dormitory and pulled out his cell phone, flipping a number up on the speed-dial. It rang twice before the person picked up.

"Hello?"

"Priscilla, it's Michael."

"Hi... What's going on?" She sounded concerned, as he almost never called her.

"I need a favor. Do you know of any casual and trendy restaurants I can take Jamie to?"

"You're taking her outside? Does Jean know?"

"No. Are you going to tell on me?"

There was a long pause on the other end. "No. No I won't, as long as you both keep out of trouble. Jean doesn't think she's ready for operations yet."

"I know, but we're both burned out and I really believe an evening out of here will do some good for her."

The sincerity in his voice turned the corner for her. "I know of one. It's a place where some of the college crowd likes to hang out. The music's loud and the food is decent. I had a hell of a time trying to observe a Padanian suspect in there." She gave him the address. "Listen, if you need help, call me. Olga's apartment is about five minutes from my place and we can be in the area of that club in about twenty minutes."

"Thanks, Priscilla. I owe you one."

"Anything for you, Michael," she said in a sultry tone that she ruined with a laugh before she hung up.

Jamie combed her short, damp hair and stared into the mirror. She felt foolish at her mistake earlier in the day on the rifle range, but she felt even worse about the look Michael had given her after he had schooled her on it. He was angry and annoyed at her and her lack of progress the past two weeks. He was pushing her to do better and to push herself harder, but everything she did to push harder seemed to backfire.

She wished she could remember something from her past, because she felt that this person she woke up as is not at all like the person she was before. Waking up one day with no memory of the previous day was disturbing, but had found the strength to ignore it and work hard. The most frightening thing was still the nightmares. She'd wake up from them with no memory of what they were, but crying and covered in sweat, trembling uncontrollably. At least once a week she awoke like this. It was frustrating that she couldn't fix it because she didn't know what it was about. If you're afraid of spiders and know you are, you could try to learn and work your way through that fear. But fear of something whose effects you can see but it's nature is unknown... How do you fight something like that?

Her mind drifted to the first thing she remembered those months ago, waking up in Michael's arms, sweaty, crying, and shaking horribly.

Jamie realized someone was holding her tightly, but she couldn't think of who it could be. There was no memory of before or why she could be crying her eyes out onto this person's shoulder, but it felt good to be there. Her breathing finally started to settle and she tried to compose herself a bit before pulling away, looking through teary eyes at the man before her. He was a handsome man, about twenty-eight or thirty, with light brown hair and soft brown eyes. He had a concerned look on his face but as she seemed to settle down, he glanced at the large mirrored window on the wall and shrugged.

It was only at that moment that Jamie felt self-conscious enough to look at herself and notice she was entirely naked, with only a thin sheet covering her waist-down. She pulled it up to cover the rest and pulled away further, entirely unsure of what was happening now that a panic was settling back in.

"Wha-Where am I?"

"You're safe. You're at the Social Welfare Agency. Try to relax."

"Where are my clothes?"

"They're over on the table." He pointed to the small pile of folded clothes that seemed to be plain and simple.

"Who are you?" She asked it even as a look of recognition started to form on her face. "Wait... You seem familiar. You- you're Michael Christiansen, my handler."

"Correct." The conditioning and programming seemed to be taking a little time to kick in, but it was working. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Jamie." There was no hesitation this time and she started to calm. Even if she couldn't remember anything from before, she felt better that there seemed to be something in her head coming to the front to be remembered.

"And what are you?"

"I'm a second generation cyborg designed to be the assault arm of the Agency against terrorist activities and to protect my handler and agency personnel from grievous harm at all costs, in that order of priority." She didn't know how she knew these things, but they just came forth automatically to the questions.

"Good. Go ahead and get dressed, Jamie. I'll be back in a few minutes." He left the room and she stepped to the table next to the mirrored window, turning her back to it. Everything seemed to be the right size and it was a relief just to have the underwear on, still conscious of the eyes likely behind the mirror. The t-shirt was tucked into the blue jeans and she combed her short hair, staring into the mirror.

A loud knock startled her back to the present mid-stroke and Jamie spun towards the door.

"Who is it?" She spoke in her not-quite-perfect Italian, figuring one of the other girls needed something.

"It's me. Can I come in?" Michael spoke in English and his voice sounded normal, rather than angry. Jamie glanced down and realized she was wearing only the robe she had put on from the shower and that she had tossed her clothes in the laundry that she had sent down to the laundry room before her shower. She had no clothes to put on since she had delayed her own laundry several days and everything went down together. She thought about answering the door like she was and figured it would probably be okay. It's not like he hadn't seen everything anyway. She stepped over to the door and opened it a little and glancing out into the hall.

"Anyone with you?"

"No. Just me." He had showered and dressed to go out for the evening.

"Come in." She opened it and waited for a remark about her choice of attire as he entered.

Michael chose not to comment on the robe, but gently closed the door behind him. "We need to talk, Jamie."

"Oh?" She took a seat on her bed and motioned him to her desk chair.

"It's about your performance the past few weeks."

She had expected another dressing down about her attitude when he mentioned having "a talk" this afternoon, but now she was curious about his tone. He certainly wasn't still angry and seemed almost apologetic. "I'm listening."

"I'm starting to think we both need to approach this from a different point of attack. I know I've been pushing you hard, maybe even too hard at times, but I'm just trying to get you mission-ready before the upcoming action against Padania. I also know that you've been working hard, even in your off time, to get better at what I've been telling you. You've been reading tactics and techniques on your own and have been trying them out on the range. I like your initiative, but we need to help each other focus that desire to learn on making you proficient, not great."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"On my side, I'm going to relax the training schedule back to the agency suggested one. You'll have the same days off as Petra so you two can pal around if you like. I'm also going to work on a more specific mission profile for you. I've been trying to train you to be good at everything at once. I'm going to focus on a few things at a time from now on and I'll add things as you become more accomplished."

Jamie nodded. "And me?"

"I need you to focus better. Focus only on those things we're working on until you get them to be natural and you can then dedicate that attention to a new skill. We're going to increase a few skills faster by focusing on them individually rather than slowly learning a lot of them. Fast is slow, slow is fast."

She nodded her approval and then sighed. "I'm sorry I've been such a screw up lately."

"It's not entirely your fault. I've asked a lot of you and you've been giving your all to it. Couple with it the sheer volume of information we've both been absorbing and it's a wonder how either of us is still walking around without falling over."

Jamie smiled at him for the first time in weeks and it lifted his spirits a bit more.

"Did you have plans for tonight?"

"No. I was going to read up on door breaching techniques but I guess that's out now until after I can get in without killing my shoulder.

Michael laughed. "You can be pretty funny, you know. I was asking because I wanted to take you out to a place that Priscilla said was loud music and good food."

"Are we allowed?"

"Probably not, but we both need to get out of here for a few hours. Get dressed and meet me out at my car." He stood and stepped towards the door. Jamie jumped up and followed him.

"Um... I don't have anything to wear, all my clothes are in the wash."

"So borrow something from Petra. We'll do some shopping while we're in the city and then head to the club." He watched the expressions go through her face, from doubt and disappointment to hope and excitement. A lock of hair had dropped in front of her eye and he brushed it aside gently, startling her with his touch. In the months they'd been working together, it was the first time he'd touched her as anything other than her teacher, and she wasn't certain what she should feel. He smiled at her and mussed her hair with a laugh.

"Hurry up, we need to get out of here before Jean finds us." She watched him until he had turned the corner on the stairs then brushed her hair back from her eyes, thinking that maybe things were going to get better after all.

The jeans were too short and the shirt too tight, but the outfit was good enough to go out in. Michael looked up as she approached, noting that she was smiling embarrassedly. "Petra's so much shorter than I am that I feel like I'm wearing kids clothes."

"You look great. I called Priscilla and she told me of a place she gets her clothes at. It's on the way and she thinks it'll be your kind of place."

"I don't have any money." Her purse was nearly empty but for some make-up and fake ID's.

"The expense account will handle it. I haven't spent any of my wages except on my clothes and some CD's. Living on premises can be beneficial sometimes, I guess, though a change of scenery might be nice."

The Jaguar XF-R stopped at the front gate and the guard glanced at Jamie.

"Good evening, Mr. Christiansen. I didn't have any notice about your cyborg heading out with you. Can I see your permission papers?"

"We had an Intel operation laid on really fast and Priscilla needs us up in Rome as soon as possible. Jean said to do the paperwork in the morning and to tell you we're okay to proceed. Maybe we'll get lucky and get to pound some Padanian terrorists tonight instead of just watching them jack off next to ten pounds of C-4." It was a bold-faced, American lie, but a good one.

"Okay, sir. Pound a few for me if you get the chance." The guard opened the gate and Michael pulled through and roared onto the highway, the car leaping to life.

"I really cannot believe he fell for that. Maybe I'll have to talk to Jean about the lax security procedures."

"Won't he tell Jean we left?"

"Maybe. More than likely, Jean will leave for his apartment and the guard will ask if he's heading to back us up. After a moment of a confused look, Jean's face will look like this," He turned to her with a stern look, his mouth a thin, flat line, making her laugh. "At that moment, the jig is up and he'll start tracking us down, not so much out of concern as curiosity of what we're doing. I figure we have three, maybe four hours to have some fun before he and Rico show up and ruin things for us."

"How do you know all this?"

"Jose told me about how Alessandro slipped out with Petra and went freelancing for an afternoon to break her in. Jean found out and he and Rico followed them until Petra knocked some punk terrorist wannabe out cold at Sandro's request."

"That doesn't surprise me. Petra can be scary sometimes. Her eyes have changed since we've been friends. It's almost like the kinder, quieter person is the part she's playing now." Jamie stared straight ahead, working on her own thoughts.

Things had changed in the dorm with the addition of several more second-generation cyborgs, each with their own handler and personality. They were forming friends and routines in sync to their own natures. Petrushka was the only one allowed to go on missions and Maria, the second of the next-generations, was having difficulty adapting to her body. The others were in various stages of training and were not as close to mission-ready status as Jamie. So where did that leave her? Up until that evening, she had felt like things were coming apart between Michael and herself, but something had changed with him.

"Um...Michael?"

"Yes."

"What happened?" Jamie's voice was soft, as if she were expecting terrible news or something.

"What do you mean?" The edge of Rome was just ahead, the bright lights of a city reflecting off the overcast sky. It was going to rain this night.

"You're different now. We've never spoken like this before and it's, um, starting to scare me."

He gave a soft laugh and started weaving through the streets, pretty sure he knew the area the store was at. "You're right, we haven't. I was thinking this afternoon about who we both started out as. When they told me you would have programming to protect me at all costs, I struggled with how close we should be. Up until now I've treated you as a student and I the master, but this evening I realized you deserve better than that. From now on, when we're on missions or other work, including training, we'll continue that, but I'll treat you with more consideration for who you are. When we're off-duty we should be more casual."

"More casual... I think I would like that."

They pulled into "The Aliens' Rock " (strangely named and written in English, Michael thought) an hour later, the bass thumping a beat that could have been from any song. The place seemed popular, all right, but it was early enough that the line hadn't started to form. He found a parking space and turned to Jamie, glancing at her attire with a trained eye, looking for the best spot.

"Hmm? What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No. I'm looking for something."

Jamie shrank away slightly, shying away from the seemingly intensive study. "H-hey. Don't get any ideas," she said jokingly. Regardless, her heart was pounding in her chest. Maybe this was too much attention too quickly.

"I'm not. I'm looking for a place you can carry a gun. We're likely not on the Padanian radars since we're both pretty new, but I don't want to take any chances. That shirt should be long enough to cover one." He dug around in the box of holsters the armorer had given him and pulled out an inside-the-waistband holster for the little Walther. He loaded and chambered the tiny PPS and slipped it into the holster. "Unfasten your belt and lean forward."

Jamie did so and gasped as the cool leather of the holster touched the small of her back, followed by the slightly uncomfortable bulk of the gun slipping into her waistband. Michael leaned close to her and shifted the gun to just behind her right hip then snapped the retaining clips in place. She could feel his breathing on her neck as he looked at her right side and found herself trembling slightly, the scent of his aftershave flooding her sense of smell. She put a hand against his shoulder to steady herself, unsure why she was feeling so anxious with his being so near. He was there only a moment and then was gone, his touch, scent, and presence lingering in her senses. She settled back into the seat again and adjusted her outfit.

"Okay, Jamie. Here are the rules for using your weapon. It remains holstered and concealed unless I tell you to use it. In a place like this we're more likely to be in close range to any target, so hand-to-hand is going to come into play before a gun. A gun is a weapon of last resort; when all other force has failed or is not applicable to the situation. Got it?"

Jamie nodded and stared at the door to the club, "Yes, sir."

Michael glanced at her face and read the change in it. She had switched into student mode without thinking. He had only told her once that they would treat each other different between work and play but it was already stuck in her mind as if it were programmed. The conditioning could be frightening sometimes in the way it played out.

"Jamie?"

"Yes, Michael?" She looked over at him with the same focused and intense look in her face, her eyes hinting at the danger residing in her. He pitied the person that ever truly made her angry with them.

"We're here to enjoy the evening, not work. Try to have fun."

Her features softened to the woman she was before, the dangerous glare turning back to the soft, blue eyes that viewed the world with enthusiasm. "Okay. There's loud music, right?"

"Probably." It _was_ a club, after all.

She dug in her purse and pulled out a pair of earplugs, small and a close match to her skin color. She slipped them in her ears and held them until they expanded fully. When she moved her hands, Michael could just barely see them by looking closely.

"Earplugs?"

"I've been having headaches on occasion. Doctor Bianchi said it was probably due to my overly sensitive ears and suggested these. It's helped so far. The tests said that I can hear as well as the first-generation girls even with them in."

"I knew your ears were better, but I didn't think they were that sensitive. I'm sure that will come in handy at times." He climbed out of the car and stepped over to her side, opening the door for her, being a gentleman. He put his right arm around her as they walked, slipping into the image of a couple for the sake of appearances. Her body tensed up noticeably and he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "We're putting on the appearance of a newer couple, so try to relax some. Also, don't think about your gun and trying to conceal it. Most people will think a bulge like that is a cell phone or something. Drawing attention to it is going to out you faster than anything. Relaxing is part of enjoying the evening."

"Sorry... I'm just not used to this." He could feel her relax herself in what would be visible to others, but she was still a little tense. Oh well, you can't win them all the first time.

The bouncer was sloppy and probably just there to protect the cover charge rather than the club as they passed through without any kind of close look. The club itself seemed to be a mix of genres, with a floor dedicated to metal and the other heavy music, and the main one devoted to the more appealing stuff with an almost nightclub type atmosphere. Maybe he was just a touch too old to fully appreciate the current music scene.

There was a Black Crows song playing and the place was busy, but there was an empty table in the far corner to the side of the stage and they made their way there. It was darker, with a straight line of sight to the door, and was a relative dead-zone in the speaker coverage so it wasn't assaulting their ears. He became aware that he'd unconsciously chosen the prime spot for a rendezvous with an informant, where they could neither be overheard nor approached unnoticed. There was little difference between conditioning and unswerving attention to long-practiced technique, Michael realized.

A waitress stepped over and Michael ordered a wine cooler for Jamie and a scotch and coke for himself, along with something unhealthy to eat for the both of them. His Italian was pretty good apparently, as the waitress had not blinked twice when he ordered. Jamie's eyes seemed to scan constantly, taking in everything. Rico had the same look in that hospital in Paris as she scanned for threats to Jean.

"Jamie."

His voice made her snap her head around towards him, breaking her thoughts and the soft eyes returned, showing that she really wasn't conscious of what she was doing. "Hm?"

"Relax."

"I'm trying, but something about this place makes me feel... almost paranoid. There's just... I don't know, something."

He put his arm around her and pulled her close in the bench seat. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"I'm supposed to protect you, you know." Jamie went back to scanning the room, but her eyes didn't take on the look she'd had before, more one of interest than concern. She was deep in thought.

The attention from Michael made her uncomfortable and she wasn't sure why. He was gentle with her, never placing his hands where they didn't belong, and she was sure they simply looked like a couple to anyone in the room who might be interested. But something inside her felt like it was all a show for others rather than a genuine feeling between them. He was trying too hard to look like more than a friend when anyone that looked close enough could see that neither was comfortable with their "relationship."

She stopped her thought there, thinking back to what he'd said earlier: That they both needed to put more of themselves into things, rather than just being a fratello. That meant she had to have some input into how things were, so long as his orders were followed. Maybe _she_ was the one not putting any feeling into the evening, not him.

But what does she feel when he's near? Her heart races, her body trembles, and his closeness instills a feeling of anxiety in her... Or was it? Maybe it was something else. There were times when her mind told her that she should be feeling emotion, but it didn't come out and it left a gap in her that she couldn't understand. Why could she feel things like anger and frustration, but not love or joy? Did she even know what the physical feeling of joy was anymore? She couldn't remember the last time she had felt it.

The drinks and food finally arrived and she pulled away from him to sip her drink, the flavor and alcohol assaulting her senses. There were things she had to ask him, things she didn't understand why she didn't know, but couldn't find the words to express. The food's arrival was helpful; the light sandwich and fries filled the time she knew she would otherwise fill with awkward questions that would only make the evening less relaxing.

"You're distracted, Jamie."

She started out of her thoughts and forced a soft smile for him. Her response came from the back of her mind instantly and felt like a refreshing one to give him. "I'm just thinking about how much about you I don't know. Where you came from, why you're with the agency, why we're fratello? I feel like there's a piece of me that is missing and I can't help wonder whether you were a part of that."

Michael frowned instantly and looked away, trying to figure out where that had come from. While the other cyborgs all had a similar "gap" in their selves, they weren't usually able to voice it. The little girls probably didn't realize how important a part of their personality their past memories were. Triela and Claes had started to grasp it in more subtle ways, and Petrushka had to feel it, but had never voiced it in a way that Alessandro had mentioned. Maybe it was the alcohol causing it to spring forth from Jamie's mind.

When he turned back to the concerned look on her face he decided to stick with the idea he'd originally decided on when he'd found out the enormity of their situation.

"I don't know anything about your past, Jamie. I signed on when Jean offered me a job, and since I was out of work at the time, I didn't think twice. They told me I'd be a cyborg handler and the first moment we met was when you woke up crying in my arms. I think it's sad that you can't remember things, but you're not the only one in that boat, and the best I can tell you is to trust in me, do your job the best you can, and be patient. Maybe it will come to you in time." He smiled reassuringly for her, feeling like he was the biggest asshole in the world at that moment.

Jamie nodded and finished her drink. If Michael said it, it must be true, so she would try not to worry about it so much.

Chapter 6: Intuition

The night was getting late. The club was near capacity and the live-band they had on was pretty good, but Michael could see Jamie getting restless. He couldn't dance worth a damn as it was, let alone to this music, and she didn't seem to remember how, or at least didn't feel like it. After the first drinks, he had ordered strictly non-alcoholic items until he could talk with the tech guys about its effects on the cyborgs.

He was just starting to think they should leave when he caught sight of a face that seemed familiar. He couldn't recall the name, and the addition of a goatee created some doubt, but the eyes, ears, and facial proportions were identical to one he'd seen in the terrorist watch-list file. He put his arm around Jamie again and leaned close to whisper in her ear.

"Jamie, that guy that just walked in, in the blue shirt and goatee. I think he's a Padanian terrorist."

She followed the subject with her eyes and observed him without making eye contact. "How do you know?"

"Just a feeling. He looks like someone on the watch-list." The man moved to a table with six others, four men, two women, and sat down, chatting like they were old friends, but the man glanced around the room cautiously, the same way Michael himself did when looking for dangers.

Michael tried to visualize the papers in the file, hoping to catch the name in his own memory. "He's a bag-man for Padania. He transports money, explosives, and guns, whatever. He never gets his own hands bloody, though, so he can keep under the radar. Damn it, I can't get the name." He thought quickly of his courses of action. He needed backup if he followed. If he remembered the file right, this guy was good at counter-surveillance and would figure out he's being followed.

"Jamie, if you pull an earplug out, do you think you could hear them?"

"I don't know. It's pretty loud in here, but I can give it a try." She could feel the resulting headache already just thinking about it.

"Hang on, I'm going to call Sandro for backup. He's good with faces and seeing through disguises." He pulled out his cell phone and adjusted himself for the best microphone reception. He dialed up Sandro's number and then glanced at his watch, hoping that he wasn't sleeping at 12:30 in the morning. It picked up on the fourth ring.

"Ugh... Hello."

"Alessandro, it's Michael. Are you awake?"

"I am now, thank you."

"I need your help here. Is Petra with you?"

There was a pause that made Michael wish he hadn't said that. He'd heard the rumors and seen the way Petrushka looked at Sandro.

"Yeah, she's on the couch, why?"

"Remember that Padanian courier that we nearly caught a few months back? I think he's come back into town on business and I'm sitting fifty feet from him and his buddies. I need backup to tail them and you're the closest, not to mention the best." A little flattery never hurt.

"Did you call Jean in?"

"Not yet. I'm not entirely sure he knows Jamie and I are on the loose outside the facility." Which was true. He suspected, but didn't know. "We're at The Aliens' Rock"

"Alright. We're going to get dressed and I'll call in some backup on the way there. Try to look like a couple and don't spook them by watching every move they make. If they leave, follow the courier and let us know. We're on the way."

"Thanks, Sandro.

"This had better be worth it, Christiansen."

"I have a feeling it will be. Ciao."

Alessandro hung up the phone and shook Petra awake.

"Mm, what?"

"Michael and Jamie need some help tailing Padanian suspects. Lets get dressed."

Petra wrapped her arms around him from behind and nuzzled up to him. "I had just gotten comfortable."

"Dress warm. It's a cold rain out tonight."

She put on a pouting face for show. "You're colder than rain sometimes, Signor Sandro."

"Okay, Jamie, help is on the way. Lets see what we can learn." He pulled her tight to him and made like he was whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Jamie brushed the hair back from her other ear and pulled the earplug out with a deft motion, nearly invisible in the lighting of the club. The noise was deafening and she winced from the initial onslaught, but focused through the pain. She cocked her head towards the suspects' table and closed her eyes, trying to isolate their voices from the reflections of the music off the opposite walls.

"Got them?"

"Hang on." She couldn't get the right angle with her head like it was. She visualized the sound directions in her head and figured out a way to get to that angle. Jamie pulled away slightly and then wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a stage kiss to his lips.

Michael was surprised by this sudden step, but then he saw the look in her eyes. She wasn't looking into his eyes; they were idly looking at his face in their "work mode" as she focused on what she was hearing. After a moment she broke the 'kiss' and shifted their positions slightly so she could listen with less of a distraction.

"Got them. It's not clear, but I can get words between the hits in the bass rhythm." Her voice was like nothing Michael had heard from her before. It was serious and professional, with an absolute focus in her thoughts. "Have... Method... Delivery... Money... Location... Government... Attack..." She blinked a few times and shook her head slightly. "It's getting tough, I think my ears are getting overwhelmed by the amount of noise."

"You're doing fine, Jamie. Keep going if you can." He tried to see them out the corner of his eye, but could not.

"I don't know... Something about a delivery method and an attack on government facilities. It didn't seem like he knew details, but was only delivering the money for it. I can't be sure, though, there's just too much noise. Sorry" The softness returned to her eyes with the last word and she pulled back from him again, feeling embarrassed. Another brush of the hair by her ear and the earplug was in, thankfully reducing the noise of the club to a manageable level, but she felt a headache coming on.

"That was great. At the very least we have probable cause to trail them."

Sandro and Petra walked in together and glanced around, playing their part to the hilt. She was an attractive blonde in a short dress and he a thirty-something lawyer-looking type. They spotted Michael and Jamie and stepped over, loudly greeting them in a casual manner. Jamie stood and accepted an overly enthusiastic hug from Petra, entirely unsure how she should reciprocate the scene. Michael and Sandro just shook hands and clapped each other on the back, giving the usual "sorry for being so late, etc" words for onlookers to chew on.

"Nice disguise, Sandro. You're just enough out of place to not be suspicious."

"You didn't give us much time to work on it. We had these ready from yesterday's work."

"Are those my boots, Jamie?" Petra had glanced over Jamie as she walked up.

"Yes, sorry. I didn't have anything to wear and the store didn't have any to match"

"Call me and ask next time. Though that outfit is cute on you." She smiled at Jamie and turned to the conversation the men were having.

"I caught a glimpse of their table as we passed. I counted four that I could confirm, including your target. The one woman is a known, though the other is new and doesn't seem like she's been in with them long."

"Jamie was able to hear enough to give us reason to work them. Something about delivering money for a job against the government." He was still stealing glances at the group, hoping to observe them a bit longer so Sandro could get a feel, not that he needed much more feeling to do. Petra was on his lap and his hands were all over her.

"Petra, take Jamie and go dance on the edge of the dance floor close to them. Make a scene of it, but don't be too obvious. Get their attention a little."

Jamie paled at the thought. "But I can't dance."

"C'mon, I'll teach you how." Petra took her hand and dragged Jamie off, a worried and pleading look on her face directed towards Michael.

"What's that about," Michael said as he turned back to Sandro.

"If you want to observe someone, the best way to do so is to give them something to look at so they don't see you looking at them. And we can watch them while looking like we're watching the girls."

"Petra can dance something other than ballet?"

"She's playing a part, and when she's in that part, she can do anything." He admired her abilities and she was certainly coming along better than he had when he was learning.

"Okay. Should we split up when they leave and follow them to their evil lairs?"

"The courier is important, but I'd like to know whether his friends are the recipients or just some lackeys. Petra and I can change our appearance pretty quick and follow him. He's good, but I think I know how to get him this time. You and Jamie follow the guy with the woman in blue."

Sandro's phone rang, just barely audible over the music. He picked up and spoke a few unintelligible words, in what sounded like Russian, then hung up. "Olga and Priscilla are waiting outside each in their cars and they have surveillance equipment. If the group splits up like I suspect they will, we can cover most of them. Jean's cued in and he's holding off on prepping an assault team until we get confirmation of a specific target location to hit. We might end up just collecting intelligence."

Michael was watching Petrushka trying to teach Jamie to dance. Jamie seemed to have the rhythm, but couldn't figure out how to make her body move like Petra, who was entirely in her element. Her body transitioned seamlessly between motions and she helped Jamie along at copying what must be the style of the day. The Padanian group seemed to take notice of the girls with amusement, particularly when Petra smiled at them, feigning embarrassment at Jamie's lack of grace.

"I can do that. Breaking and Entering is a specialty of mine." Michael looked back to the group and saw that they were getting ready to leave. Petra must have noticed it too, as she pulled Jamie back to the table to rest. Jamie was smiling a bit though, so maybe she enjoyed it. "Did you have fun, Jamie?"

"Yeah. I can't seem to get it right, though. Maybe I'm not a dancer like Petra." She sat down next to him and sipped her water, her attention going back to the task at hand.

"We'll work on it back at the dorm." She turned to Sandro and the smile faded. "So what's the plan?"

"They're moving now, and we have Priscilla and Olga for backup tailing them. We'll take the courier, and Michael and Jamie will take the older couple. We'll report in when they get to a location, then we'll see how we can figure out what they're up to. Lets follow them out as a group, say our goodbyes, then we'll split up."

"Okay. Ready Jamie? Try to keep smiling."

"Yeah, okay."

The four got up and exited the building less than a minute behind the group. They had already split up and Sandro steered Petra towards their car after noting where the courier was heading. A quick glance by Michael located Priscilla's Beetle and Olga's Saab down the street, parked close to his Jaguar, and he gave them their instructions as he passed. There was a pair of earpiece radios on his front seat and a note of what equipment Olga had with her. From the list he could tell Olga was ready for an extended stakeout if need be. Apparently she keeps that stuff in her trunk all the time.

He handed an earpiece to Jamie and put his own in, just catching Sandro's voice.

"Alessandro here, checking in."

"This is Michael, checking in."

"This is Prissy. I'm on the young couple. They're heading towards the south side."

"Olga, here. The two men are in my sights. I'll let you know when they stop."

"Can these radios handle the range we might need?" In the few operations he'd been in, he had never had to find that out.

"Their maximum effective range without a base-station is four miles. We'll probably have to switch to cell-phones."

Tailing the suspects was not difficult, as they seemed to feel secure in their anonymity. That was one thing Michael had learned back at The Farm, the CIA training academy: Never break your field-craft, especially when you feel invisible. Complacency breeds sloppiness, and allows your enemy to slip in unnoticed. Michael was counting on this being exactly what had happened. Complacent targets were so much easier than the truly good ones, and he needed an easy job for Jamie to start out with.

"Priscilla, here. Targets have gone into a building in Ciampino, by the Airport. Taking up over-watch."

Michael's targets were taking a round about path through the northern section of the city, almost out of habit it seemed. By switching his lights off occasionally at turns and lagging behind some distance, he could make it seem he was a different car. Their car finally stopped after twenty minutes, and Michael parked almost two blocks up the street on a hill where he had an excellent view of the whole street. The suspects got out, looked around some, and then went into an apartment across the street.

"Sandro here. The courier went into an apartment and is now heading out with a briefcase. We're sticking with him."

"My targets have stopped at Termini Station, looks like they are waiting on something. Going silent to watch." Olga was pretty good for having a presidential security background.

"Michael, here. My targets have entered an apartment several blocks from Piazza di Spagna. I'm going to move in and investigate." He got out and climbed into the back seat, pulling down the other seat to access the trunk. He pulled a duffle bag out of it and started taking his clothes off.

"Michael?" Jamie looked back, not entirely sure what was going on.

"I'm changing clothes. Keep an eye on that doorway and let me know if they leave." He was stripped in moments and started to pull on the dark blue jogging sweats he kept for just such an occasion. His shoulder holster went on over his t-shirt and a loose, zip-up sweat jacket covered that well enough that his gun wouldn't print an outline through it. A pair of black non-skid boots went on last, and he pulled a belt pack from the duffle. This was filled with his infiltration tools. He climbed back into the front seat and settled in checking his watch. It was almost three, the witching hour. Crimes happened this late at night and almost everywhere, and while he wasn't a criminal, the act was that of one. The rain he'd expected had started while they were driving, which would make things a bit tougher for him, but could also help a little.

"Alright. I'm going to move up and scout the apartment to see if I can find their flat. My radio is on, but I won't respond verbally. Keep conversation to a minimum, but if you need to tell me something or ask a question, do it in a 'yes or no' fashion. I'll key my microphone once for no, twice for yes. I might not be able to answer right away, so be patient. Check on me every ten minutes, no more or less. If I don't respond within five minutes of a check-in, come in after me. There are spare mags and ammunition for your Walther under your seat along with a pouch for them. Load some up; those eight round mags won't last long in a firefight. We'll worry about a more appropriate gun tomorrow. Everything clear?"

Jamie looked at him with her soft blue eyes and he thought he detected a hint of fear in them. She was essentially being turned loose and told to wait while he went towards danger. The cyborg programming made it difficult for her to swallow that and as she pulled the box from under the seat, her eyes changed to the ones Michael found so frightening: more machine than woman.

"Yes, sir. Check in every ten minutes, if no answer by five, move in shooting."

"No, Jamie. Shoot only if necessary. We want these people alive if possible. Clear?"

"Yes, sir." Was it his imagination or was there a hint of irritation in her face.

"I'm off, then. Wish me luck."

Michael jogged across the street and kept close to the buildings, letting them cloak him in shadow and protect him from the blowing rain. Conditions were ideal for a night action, at least to him. The building was finally beside him and he could see four apartment listings beside the door. All of them were up-stairs and the ground floor was an antique shop. He checked the door and found it unlocked, not unheard of for an apartment, but seemed odd for someone in the suspects' position to tolerate.

Just as he had hoped, there were two pairs of fresh shoe prints on the clean floor, heading up the stairs. One was a ladies boot the other a men's size nine shoe, about what the couple in the club would have had. He followed them upstairs and around the corner to a door at the front of the building. The door across the hall had a card noting it was for rent and he toyed with the idea of taking it to spy on the neighbors. No, no need. These people were going down long before he could move in.

The hall was poorly lit with only a single bulb at the far end and he was in darkness, invisible unless close enough. Michael listened carefully at the door with a stethoscope, seeking any sound from inside that meant the occupants were still awake. He could hear the gurgling of a fish tank, a large and loud one. A small fiber-optic camera under the door showed the visible rooms to be dark, but a small amount of light, from what he guessed was the fish tank, was visible in the far room. He swung the camera up and could see that the chain was off the door, but that there was a double-keyed deadbolt. He lifted his eye from the camera and looked closely at the locks. It was a good one, for sure, but he could pick it, given time.

"This is Jamie, time-check. Everything okay?" Her voice seemed like it was coming from a bullhorn. His ears had adjusted to the silence and his earpiece was set too high, nearly making him deaf. He quickly turned it down further and tapped two clicks on the transmitter.

"Confirmed, next check in ten."

Michael put his camera away and selected his lock picks carefully. It had been several months since he had practiced, but these sorts of skills never went away, they only lost their razor edge. He'd been picking locks of all types since he was a boy and every time he had to refresh his skills, it took almost no time to be back at his best level.

The lock was old and the tumblers were ideal, their edges dull and springs weak. He gently sawed the pick across the pins while applying twisting pressure to the barrel, feeling the movement of the pins and the hesitation in each as they caught against the edge of the cylinder. The lock turned and he moved it carefully through the full motion, wincing as the bolt loudly clicked into it's retracted position. He listened at the door for any sounds of a response, but all he could hear was that damn fish tank. The door handle's lock was very cheap and he picked it with a few deft twists of the picks, a smile on his face from the familiar thrill of breaking into someplace he didn't belong. He twisted the knob slowly and gently cracked the door an inch, listening for a creak from the hinges that might give him away. Satisfied with his chances of remaining undetected, he keyed his radio and whispered almost imperceptibly.

"I'm in. Reset the clock and watch for anyone coming into the building."

"Yes, sir."

The apartment was average for Rome, with bad wall coverings and a bare brick wall on one side. The floors were hardwood and he tread softly, feeling for any spot that might shift with his weight and make noise. Michael inched the door closed and then stepped further inside, his eyes well adjusted to the dark now. There was just enough light for him to be able to make out the titles of several magazines on the coffee table, local rags sympathetic to Padanian ideals. For semi-skilled operators, these folks didn't seem to care about being searched. Maybe they really had gotten sloppy.

The cupboards were searched quickly, a glance through them with a dim red light sufficed in that, so he moved into the next room, right next to the bedroom. The occupants weren't asleep, as he'd thought. The sounds of lovemaking coming from inside would probably cover his work and it was so much easier to work when peoples' attentions were elsewhere. He just hoped they went the distance.

There was a roll-top desk in the front corner near the window and he moved to it, carefully examining the lock. It was a simple skeleton key affair, and he had one the same size on his ring. He had wrapped each key in electrical tape to prevent any noise from metal-to-metal contact, and the piece on the shaft of the key came off easily allowing it to be inserted. The lock clicked and he gently raised the top a few inches. Everything in this business was dependent on stealth, and stealth required patience and a light touch.

He shielded the red light and quickly glanced over the papers readily available on the desk. More papers were in locked cubbyholes in the desk, but he'd have to open it completely to view them and he could not risk that. The papers he could read mentioned areas of the city and the pictures showed the usual places for potential bombings. They could easily be mistaken for tourist photos if he didn't already know these folks were not tourists.

They were a recon team, he realized. In high-risk/large effect operations like Padania had been trying to do, you compartmentalize all aspects of the operation. The recon teams do their job and drop the info someplace, the thinkers pick up the info and do the planning, and they drop that off to be picked up by the actual shooters. The shooters never contact the recon teams because a shooter can be tracked easier (and often were), and sacrificing more than just them was not good business. It was also easier to recruit people to 'just take pictures' when they don't know the final use those pictures will have.

Michael made a mental list of the locations and set everything back the way it was, carefully closing the lid and locking it again. There was a cell-phone on the table and he was just reaching for it when it rang, the tone deafening loud in the quiet room. He glanced around quickly in a search for someplace to hide, cursing himself for forgetting to plan an escape.

The second ring sounded and he heard a muffled "damn it" from the bedroom. There was the rustling of covers and he knew he had only seconds until the owner stepped out of the room to find Michael bathed in the light of the fish tank. There was only one choice for concealment and he took it, hoping he wouldn't be spotted. By the third ring he was curled up under the desk hoping the chair sticking out some wouldn't arouse suspicion and warrant a closer inspection. He was pinned into a position where he couldn't reach his radio without moving the chair and he knew the ten-minute check was coming due. He hoped Jamie understood how long to wait for a reply.

The bedroom door opened and a man stepped out, clad only in a deerstalker hat. What the hell? The phone rang a fourth time and he finally picked it up.

"This had better be good." He had a younger voice, but with a slight rasp, reminding Michael of Bryan Adams.

The voice on the other end was unintelligible, but the response on his end told enough of the story. "What do you mean you were followed? Who is it?" There was anger in the voice now, along with an impatience Michael didn't like the sound of. "How do you know they're watching you? Uh-huh. Just one? Well, if there's only one, then get down there and take care of her."

"This is Jamie, time check." Jamie's voice would have startled Michael if he weren't expecting it at the worst possible moment. She'd have to stew a few minutes. From the conversation he had to figure one of his team was going to be in trouble soon.

The phone conversation was getting better by the moment. "NO! I don't care whether she is new or not, she's either 'in' or 'out'. If she can't deal with the removal of one little cop, she has no place with Padania. If you think she'll run her mouth, you need to shut it for her. I don't care how." He moved to the window and looked out, checking the street for suspicious cars and seeing none. "I'll contact Paulo and let him know. The twins are at the station waiting on him. We have to assume they were followed as well. Call me when you've dealt with your problem."

He hung up and went into the bedroom but left the door wide open, the light just reaching Michael under the desk. He was visible, but not without moving the chair or looking under it.

"Time check, acknowledge." He still couldn't afford to move.

"What was that about?" The woman had pulled a robe on, the mood obviously broken.

"Dominic was tailed back to his apartment, probably by police. There's someone outside in a car, watching his place. There's only one so I told him to take care of her, and he's done it before, but it's that new girl of his I'm worried about."

"Hmm. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going for a walk to see if we were followed."

He started to dress and Michael knew he only had a few minutes to do something before things went to hell in a hand-basket. Jamie was about two minutes away from busting in the door, and even if she waited, this guy would spot her in the car. Priscilla was in serious danger and probably didn't know it. Paulo the courier was about to get a call that would tip him off about Sandro and Petra putting them in serious danger, and Olga might already be in trouble. Shit.

Jamie looked at her hand and wished it would stop shaking. Michael hadn't answered in three minutes and could be in trouble. She had seen the curtain of the front apartment pull aside for a moment and figured that the target was up and moving around. If Michael hadn't hidden, he was in trouble. If he wasn't in trouble, why hadn't he answered?

"Priscilla, here. There's some activity at my location. The target female just left the apartment and is walking away from me. No sign of the male. She got into their car and is just sitting there."

Priscilla squinted to see through the rain. The woman was smoking a cigarette in the car, the smoke puffing out the window. Was she waiting for something? A sudden feeling of paranoia made her look around for danger but it was already there. A man ripped the door open and dragged her out into the wet street, then kicked her in the stomach, knocking the wind from her. She rolled onto her radio's belt pack and tried to shield herself from the onslaught of her attacker's kicks, hoping that the transmitter was pressed and her choking gasps for air were signaling for help. A solid kick to her head made the world around her go black.

Jamie heard Priscilla's voice cut off and suddenly found herself halfway out the car door with gun in hand. An agency person was in trouble and Michael might be also, and that was unacceptable. She sprinted to the apartment building and heard scuffling somewhere upstairs, the sounds muffled and dulled by the thick walls. Whoever was hurting Michael would die by her hand.

Priscilla's warning was his cue to action, and he decided to wing it, as any plan he could have had was now out the window. As the man stepped by the desk, Michael tipped and shoved the chair into his legs, sending him stumbling. He was out from under the desk in half a second and grabbed the man's arm, twisting it behind him and up, leveraging his own weight against him with a powerful shove. They both crashed into the dining table, breaking the legs of it and stunning them both for only a moment when the top crashed onto them.

The woman in the bedroom was moving and on top of Michael before he could get up, her arm around his neck and choking him. He got to his knees and put both his hands on her elbows, then ducked and turned his head as he pushed them up, slipping from her hold and forcing her off balance. He drove an elbow into her chest and felt her sag back into the coffee table. The man was back up again and landed a palm strike against Michael's face knocking him on his back, then pinned him down while punching mercilessly. After the fourth hit Michael started to see stars and knew he was probably not going to last much longer. He freed an arm and tried to force his assailant off him, but had no strength.

The man pulled a knife and had raised his arm to strike when the door literally bust into the apartment, ripped from its hinges from the force of Jamie's kick. The gun in her hands leveled at the man and she fired, the bullet smashing through his shoulder and sending the knife flying into a corner. The woman had caught her breath and she lunged for the bedroom, doubtless where her gun was. Jamie's Walther barked twice, sending bullets into the woman's thigh and hip, shattering both and collapsing her into a screaming heap on the floor.

Michael managed to gather his wits and strength enough to roll the man off him and plant an elbow into his face, breaking his nose at the bridge and knocking him out. Jamie rushed in and kicked the woman onto her back, oblivious to the screams of agony. She knelt on the woman's throat choking off the screams, and put the gun between her eyes; a victorious and sadistic smile on her face, daring her opponent to so much as think about moving. The take-up on the Walther's double-action trigger was gone and only another millimeter was needed to release the firing pin and send this woman to oblivion.

Michael saw the look on Jamie's face and realized he was going to have to call her off, as she was a hair away from greasing a perfectly good source of information for the sake of- of what? His own safety? The feeling of accomplishment at protecting her handler?

"Jamie!" He yelled to break through her target fixation and the lethal eyes glanced over at him, obeying the programming that told her to listen to him.

"Stand down, it's over now."

"Yes, sir." She stood and holstered her gun, then stepped aside. Never taking her eyes off the target.

Michael fumbled for his radio and realized the wire had ripped out in the scuffle. He stepped over to Jamie and took the one from her ear and belt, but she never flinched. Her eyes darted between the door of the apartment and the suspects, constantly scanning for dangers.

"Sandro, this is Michael. I have two wounded suspects at my location. Take the courier into custody immediately. Olga, continue over-watch unless they react."

"This is Jean, I'm on the line. I'm heading to Priscilla's location and Ferro's already on her way there, Michael. When she gets there, you and Jamie get to Priscilla's location. We're going to have to hit this place hard and fast and I need a second team. Olga, Hilshire and Triela are on their way. Do not allow those men to get on the train. Take them alive if you can."

"Yes, Jean."

"Consider further communications on these radios to be compromised. Cell-phones only from here on."

It was another five minutes before Ferro stepped over the debris of the apartment door, with that constant emotionless look on her face and clad in another of those suits she liked to wear.

"What, do you sleep in that suit or something?" Michael had lucked out and his nose wasn't broken, but it took forever to stop bleeding. He was coming down from the adrenaline high and was in a joking mood.

"Whoever said I sleep?" she looked at the pair on the floor with disgust. The woman had a tourniquet on her leg that was saving her life but she'd probably never dance again. Such a pity, Ferro thought sardonically. "My team's taking care of things here. If you're up to it you should head over to help Jean."

"I don't have much of an option. I got everyone into this mess so I have to get them out. Lets go Jamie."

"Yes, Michael." She followed him out to the car, exactly a step and a half behind him. It wasn't until they were in the car and halfway to their destination that she started trembling uncontrollably. Michael was told that the cyborgs kill without remorse, so what was this about? Post-Traumatic Stress?

"Talk to me about it?" He had to get it out of her quick so they could get back in the game.

"I- I don't know. I feel like crying, but I don't have any tears. Is that possible?"

"Hm, yes. What was so upsetting to you?" He turned onto the exit towards the airport.

"First you weren't answering the check-in call, then Priscilla was cut off... Then I kicked in the door and you were there about to be stabbed. I hesitated in deciding what to do. I should have shot him in the head but couldn't. Then the woman started moving and all I could think was that I had screwed it all up she was going to finish you off. Then I was on top of her, holding her life in my hands and she had attacked you, so I wanted to kill her."

"And you didn't."

"Don't you see? I'm supposed to protect you!" Her soft, blue eyes seemed to plead with him for understanding.

"Jamie. You did great tonight. You followed the orders that I gave you. I told you we needed them alive and you took them alive, whether you wanted to kill them or not. Whether that is you or your conditioning, I don't know, but what's important is that the job was done and we're both okay."

"But your face..."

"Will heal in time. Right now you need to come to terms with what you are being asked to do."

"I will follow yours and the agency's instructions."

"When we're on the job, that's all I ask. Save the emotions for when the day is done, and right now, it's not done. We've got to get Priscilla out of whatever I got her into. That is now job one."

"Okay. I'll do my best." She looked out the window at the passing streetlights. "I hope she's okay."

"So do I."

He took the off-ramp and found the street, stopping behind Jean's car. Jean and Rico stepped out of the shadows and Michael rolled down the window.

"Going my way?"

"It's hardly a time for jokes, Christiansen. Rico slipped inside and determined that they're busy doing a number on Priscilla, looking for information. I don't think she's talked yet, but I don't think she can take much more. They've made several attempts to contact the people we've picked up already. I would think they'll start to panic soon, and she might not survive that. We have to assume they know something of our operation tonight since her radio is not in the car."

"Got a plan?"

"There's only one door in. There's a window Rico could swing through, but I don't think we can get her to the roof or coordinate without the radios."

"We need to avoid a hostage situation. Neither side can win and I'm not going to trade Priscilla for a pair of mediocre terrorists. Better to smash our way in and have it out."

Jean looked up and down the street, almost as if he were searching for anyone else to do this job with. "We'll do the direct approach and send the cyborgs in first. Can your cyborg handle it?"

Michael looked insulted. "She's done well enough tonight so far. I see no reason to hold her back now. I'd recommend pistols only, though, with a flash-bang intro. We need accuracy on our part and disorientation on theirs. Jamie can handle the flash." He looked at her and smiled. He was giving her a second chance to try out that trick she had failed before, and trusted her enough to let her do it under these circumstances.

"Okay. Get ready, we move in five." Jean stepped away to dig in his trunk for gear. Michael turned to Jamie who looked like a cornered fox.

"You can do it, Jamie. Count to three, toss the flash in, and then go in after. Make sure you clear the door so Rico has a clear field of fire. Cover your zones. The targets need not be taken alive. Take no chances with Priscilla's safety. If they're standing, they are a viable target."

"Yes, Michael." Jamie reloaded her gun and checked it. The mistake in the shoot-house was in her head, but she pushed it back. She was better than she was then and there would be no mistake this time. She would make Michael proud tonight.

The four moved into the building, guns drawn, and quietly moved up the stairs, stopping on each side of the correct door. The sounds of a beating were still going on and they heard Priscilla's weak moan during a pause. Jamie had her gun in her left hand and the armed flash grenade in her right. Rico watched Michael counting down from five on his fingers and she moved the moment his finger pointed at her. Jamie released the grenade's spoon when Rico's foot started to come up and its release seemed like the loudest thing in the hallway.

Time slowed down for Michael. Rico was swift and the door ripped off its hinges before he could even start to ready himself to move in. She ducked back to the side and Jamie tossed the flash-bang in then shifted to dart in, moving after the first bounce. It exploded and the doorframe shielded her from the effects, just as she'd hoped. She jumped to the opposite side of the doorway and raised her gun, sighting on a male target standing in front and to the right of Priscilla, who was slumped in a chair. Two shots rang out in rapid succession, and the man was dead before he even knew he'd been shot. Rico had lunged in to Jamie's left and three rounds from her CZ-75 dropped the female target at the exact same instant.

Michael saw the two empty casing from Jamie's Walther bounce on the floor and it was all over almost before it had started. Time returned to normal and the girls moved in and secured the apartment, carefully checking the rooms and Jean spun around the corner to cover them but there was no need; the place was void of further opposition. Michael stood in the doorway stunned, his ears ringing from the flash bang and the shots. Jamie's two shots with a gun she'd had no practice time on were one ragged hole in her target's skull. Rico had Mozambiqued her target with two through the chest and one through the head. Even after working with them all this time, he was still in awe of their capabilities.

Priscilla was hunched over in the chair she was tied to, bloody and beaten, but still conscious. She looked up when Jean stepped over to her and gave him a weak grin.

"Sorry I screwed up and had to be rescued. I guess I'm not cut out for solo action just yet." Jean flicked open his knife and cut her loose, then kept her from falling forward out of the chair. She had no strength left in her.

Michael keyed his radio. "This is Michael. Priscilla is safe and we need medical transport for her. Radios are secure again."

"Ferro here. I have an ambulance en route now. We're taking everyone back to the agency med-center because we can't have information of these raids getting out. We've gathered some pretty important intel here."

Michael looked at Jamie as she stepped from the bedroom. Her eyes were not the frustrated ones he'd seen in the car, nor the cold and frightening type she'd had after she had taken down the woman earlier. They were a beautiful blue and filled with the gleam of personal triumph. She had conquered some of her fears tonight and what remained was the confidence necessary to move on.

The ride back to the agency was in silence, the only sounds from the engine and the splashes on the road. There wasn't much to be said. Each had their own thoughts and after the excitement of the evening, perhaps it was better to reflect rather than talk.

Michael had no idea what Jamie was thinking about, but his own thoughts focused on her. She had done very well for her first time out, unexpected as it was. Her reaction time and accuracy were better than on the training grounds, and while her decision-making might need some work, it was hardly flawed. Best of all, she had started to open up and see her own potential and possibilities, rather than focusing on her limitations. Even if tonight hadn't been as relaxing as he'd hoped, the results were what he had wanted: they were more cohesive of a team than they were the previous morning, and now they could move forward.

The sky was just starting to lighten as they pulled into the agency, the overcast clouds and rain now far to the east. Michael didn't realize how tired he was until he climbed out of the car, the fatigue of stress and the long night hitting him all at once. His hesitation made Jamie look over in concern and he gave her a small smile that she returned.

"We'll skip the training today, Jamie. Go take a shower and get some rest."

"Alright." She stepped off towards the dorm and then stopped, looking at the ground. "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for taking me out last night. I had fun."

"I enjoyed it too, Jamie." She continued on her way with a bit more bounce in her step and Michael watched her to the door and felt a familiar feeling of sadness creep into him. She was beautiful and smart, a near-perfect young woman. The gaping hole that was her past was only part of his own sadness, it was the limited future that really got to him at these times.

He had saved her, only for her to be made into a killing machine with a limited operational life. What that life was, no one at the agency would say, though a few had to have an idea. Ten years, twelve... Was it even that many? What kind of life was that?

Michael found himself in front of his room, not even realizing he'd been walking, so deep in thought he'd been. He tossed his bag onto the bed and sat down, feeling the fatigue and bruises from the night's excursion course through his body. He still had blood on his hands, who's he was not certain, and the Tylenol he'd taken earlier had worn off, the headache returning.

He needed a shower before bed but had to summon the strength to hold up, nearly falling asleep in the soothing, warm spray. He was already starting to bruise in his face and arms, and by the time he dried off he was having trouble moving his stiffening arms through the dull pain. The human body was an amazing thing at times, and a pain in the ass at others.

As he lay in bed with the cool air from the ceiling fan washing over his bare chest, the guitar in the corner caught his attention. He wanted to give it to her, but was afraid of what the reaction would be. Would she love him more? Would she hate him for it?

The questions filled his head as the darkness of sleep closed in, and the dreams would come for him once again.

Chapter 7: Explanations and Misdirection

Things were going smoothly enough, Michael thought. He'd been with the Agency a month now, working on his Italian with Triela, whom he'd taken a liking to in a brotherly manner, and going over piles of intelligence from the field operations of both Sections One and Two. His marksmanship was better than ever and he was even in better physical health, doing ten laps around the compound and sixty push-ups each morning. It had been a strange thing at first, but he was now shooting alongside the cyborgs and at times could almost keep up with them. It was amazing what you could get used to if you had to.

The only problem was the mounds of paperwork that they seemed to be shoveling him to keep him busy. Intel reports of all types that he had to read through, summarize, spindle, and mutilate. The Republican Faction was reorganizing after several fruitful agency actions against them and the Padanian terrorists were still operating small-time, whacking the occasional lawyer or judge and mowing down cops in the streets with drive-bys. Tracking the supplies and money seemed to be the easiest way to get those people, and one after another they were falling. There always seemed to be someone to take their place, though. The North-South divide was becoming greater by the week and it was only a matter of time before the regional violence turned into a full-blown civil war.

"Michael?"

He looked up at the voice, the attractive but distant Ferro stepped over with another folder in her hand. "Tell me, Ferro, what do you do in your off time? You're so serious and professional here at work, but I can't help but wonder if you go home, get dolled up, and hit the town to charm the gentlemen for some drinks. Or maybe you put on a frilly apron and play Martha Stewart for a few hours, making little giraffes out of pipe cleaners or something. Am I close? Give me a hint here."

"Not even close." The look in her eyes could freeze an erupting volcano in its tracks. "Chief Lorenzo wants to see us in his office."

She tossed the folder on his pile and walked away, leaving him wondering what could possibly have turned a woman like her to ice. The lack of knowledge about her just made him more curious. Everybody at the agency had a story, so what was hers? He got up and followed her wondering what he'd done lately to get called to the chief's office.

"Come in and take a seat." Lorenzo motioned them both in and then poured himself some coffee. Jean was there, as always, standing next to the window and holding a folder.

"We have a quick assignment for you, Christiansen. You and Ferro are flying to the States tonight to tie up a loose end on your cyborg. We had a call this morning from a Mrs. O'Malley in Springfield, Illinois. Ring a bell?" He settled into his chair.

Michael couldn't forget the name if he tried. "That's the mother of one of Janet Wells' friends. What was the call about?"

"She was calling about the status of the third body. We normally don't say that a subject has died, but in this case it seemed better to do so. The death certificate was issued by the Italian government and given to the American consulate, but the family in question is inquiring into the status of the remains, presumably to bring back to the states. This is obviously not possible so we need you to go there and explain the situation."

Jean stepped forward with his folder and placed it on the desk. "We have all of the documents prepared, including a cover-story. We attempted to save her life with experimental technology but were unable to do so. The technology is property of the Italian government and is not permitted to leave the country. The corpse was cremated and interned in a local cemetery. Any further information is classified. We included pictures of the monument and surroundings. We hope it'll appeal to Mrs. O'Malley's sense of peace and let the subject drop. It's your job to see that there are no more inquiries."

"And Ferro?"

Lorenzo answered this time. "She is going along as a representative of the Agency while your own cover is as an American Interpol officer. We feel this will be more appropriate and believable, and it should also get you through the airport security easier. Your papers are in the folder. Should you require any further support, Ferro can arrange it. Try not to expense more than you need to as we'd like to keep a low profile with your government."

"Who is in charge?" Ferro spoke up finally, not happy with what she viewed as a babysitting job.

"It's Christiansen's show to run, but you have final say."

Ferro nodded her approval and Michael figured that she would have had it that way regardless of what Lorenzo said.

"Any other questions?"

"No sir." They both stood and stepped towards the door.

"Oh, Christiansen."

"Yes, Chief?"

"Your cyborg will be finished with her basic skills training by the time you get back. We'll clear your intel work so you can focus on training from here on."

"Yes, sir. I look forward to it." He left and closed the door behind him, catching a look on Ferro's face as she turned to walk away. "What?"

"Nothing. I just hope you're up to the task."

"You'll find I'm full of surprises."

"We'll see. We leave here at noon, so pack quickly."

They had a ninety-minute layover in Washington DC before their flight into Springfield, which was a bit of relief to Michael, as the flight from Rome to London, then to Washington was pushing almost twelve hours, adding in the time sitting on the taxiways. It was nice to finally have a break from the droning whine of jet engines. Ferro had been prepared and used noise-canceling headphones on both flights, sparing her the annoyance that Michael was dealing with. She was still reading through a stack of papers when he returned with their dinner, a chef salad for her and real American burger and fries for himself.

"You should put the work on hold and try to enjoy the trip. When was the last time you were in the U.S.?"

"I've never been here. My work has never really taken me out of Europe, except for a short trip to Africa." She stabbed her fork into a piece of lettuce with an authoritative manner. Everything she did seem to reflect the personality she exhibited to others. Of all the people at the Agency, she was the most honest to herself.

"Seriously, and I'm not just saying this to get a rise out of you: Its a short trip, it won't hurt to spend that time looking at something other than reports or budget numbers or whatever you're reading. There's a lot here to enjoy, and the least you can do is pretend to be interested." Her response was to look up at him for a moment then return to her papers with renewed enthusiasm, if you could call her impassiveness that.

It was frustrating. Why couldn't they have sent Priscilla, or even Olga, on this trip with him? At least they could enjoy the sights some, and maybe even laugh a little. He'd had it. He had to do something to break this boring and emotionless cloud from her that surrounded him.

He seized his chance when she took a sip of water between bites.

"I wonder if they'll strip search us."

Ferro choked on her water and had to put her papers down while she recovered, but Michael was somewhat sad she didn't spray it out her nose. It took her a minute to get her stolid demeanor back, and she finally decided to amuse him some, hoping it would shut him up for a while.

"If I promise to sight-see a bit in Springfield, will you leave me alone for the trip back?"

"Only if you smile for me too." Hey, he was making progress. Why not push a little?

"Don't press your luck." She went back to her papers.

"It's a deal then." He'd made progress and that was a start.

They arrived in Springfield late and their hotel rooms were comfortable but lacking the European style flair that Michael had to admit that he'd gotten used to. Ferro bid him good night and went to her own room to phone-in to the office. Things were going smoothly enough on this trip, though he had already started thinking about the wounded family he was going to meet the next day. They had lost a daughter, and he was going to explain the details of how they "lost" another, if only an emotionally adopted one.

Michael had to feel something other than what he did, and that was the problem. How can you lie to someone like this and be convincing. He had managed numerous times before, but in less human circumstances with the targets being informants who didn't need the truth to operate and probably didn't expect it anyway. Espionage was all about lies.

This situation was akin to being the poor schmuck the military sends to inform the next of kin. He never had to do that in his career and figured he'd never get the chance to do it for the one time he really should have, the botched Calais bombing. Well, maybe he'd do something good this time around and hopefully bring some peace to the family. With that on his mind he slipped off into sleep, dreaming about things he couldn't change.

Ferro was shaking him awake at a prompt six-thirty, already dressed to kill, literally, in her suit.

"Get up, Michael, the Chief just called with additional orders."

He rubbed his eyes and noticed there was a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand. "Huh? What now?" He sat up groggily and took a sip of coffee, clad only in his striped boxers. Ferro glanced at him momentarily then turned her attention elsewhere.

"Do me a favor and please put something on before we continue this conversation."

"I'll have to dig out my fresh socks."

"Pants, please." He dressed quickly and told her it was safe to turn around again.

"We need to leave as soon as we're done with this assignment, so sorry, no sight-seeing. We have to meet Jose in Florence tonight, local time."

"Man, talk about jet-lag. What's this about?"

"There's going to be a meeting of some mid-level Republican Faction leaders and they need your skills to get the place wired. I've already arranged for the return flight but we need to finish the work here quickly."

She went to get her bags and Michael set about finishing with his own suit and packing, not that he'd had a lot of time to unpack. Maybe this was the way Section Two worked all of the time and maybe he'd even get used to it.

They checked out at eight sharp and found breakfast at a corner cafe where the food was excellent and the coffee strong. He wasn't sure if she was just hungry or actually starting to enjoy things a bit, but Ferro ate her breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast quickly and sat back with a half smile on her lips. It was going to be the only moment of amusement in an otherwise busy day for Michael.

It was only a fifteen-minute drive to their destination, a cozy ranch-style house on a quiet street. There was a park on the corner and the lawns were neatly trimmed. It was nice to be back home, if only for a day, Michael thought.

The garage door was open and they caught sight of what must have been Mrs. Evelyn O'Malley finishing up some chore she'd had. The sound of their car drew her attention and she met them at the door with the lifeless eyes of a parent who has buried a child.

"Mrs. O'Malley, good morning. I'm Michael Christiansen from Interpol and this is Agent Ferro, from the Italian Social Welfare Agency. I called you yesterday about Janet Wells."

"Yes, good morning. I was expecting you a bit later, though."

"We are terribly sorry, Mrs. O'Malley. We were called early this morning and informed that we have to return to Italy tonight, so we had to visit this morning. We hope it is not too much of an inconvenience." Ferro spoke perfect English and with a regale air that you had to accept politely. It was the first time Michael had ever heard her speak anything but Italian and he was intrigued.

"No, there's no inconvenience. It's just sudden. You can imagine the...difficulty in dealing with this subject."

"Yes, ma'am, I'd like to say that we're sorry for your loss. We certainly appreciate your speaking with us today. This case has been quite a sore spot for us and it seemed like I wouldn't be able to work on it any more until I had a chance to speak with you. Sometimes you need to see the face of the victims to be able to renew the effort in pursuit of the criminals."

Mrs. O'Malley smiled softly; appreciating the effort they were putting in. "Won't you come in?"

"Oh, thank you, ma'am." They followed her into the living room, a comfortable and inviting room with their daughter's pictures on the walls. It was then that Michael realized that Carol O'Malley was an only child. Jesus, how do you even start to cope with that?

"Can I offer you anything? Coffee or water?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. O'Malley." Ferro was gazing at the pictures with interest, feigned or real, Michael couldn't tell.

"Well, then. What brought you all the way here from Italy?"

"Ma'am, you inquired about Janet Wells' remains and the SWA asked me to come over to explain what happened to Janet after she arrived in their care. It all happened quickly, for Janet's sake, and as an American Interpol representative, I arranged for the actions the SWA took to save her life, seeing no other choice but to let her die there in Paris. She had a chance in a thousand in Italy and no chance at all in Paris, so I took it."

"Is that proper from a legal stand point?"

"Legally speaking, no ma'am. I did however consult the American Embassy and they gave it their blessing and even helped to arrange the flight. Again, we were thinking of a young woman's life, not of legalities."

Mrs. O'Malley nodded her approval. She had been overseas a few times and knew the complexities involved in simple tasks, let alone the near-impossibility of the more difficult ones.

"So, she arrived in Italy and was taken to the Agency medical facility where the doctors have been working with artificial organs with good results, but their work is still mostly experimental. It was hoped a new type of artificial liver would help Miss Wells to survive, but she succumbed a few days later to her injuries, never having regained consciousness. I was there the whole time to act as translator if need be, but there really wasn't much the doctors could do. The human spirit is stronger than the body, but even the spirit has limits."

"Yes. Janet was always strong willed and I don't doubt that she fought as long and hard as she could. The papers said she had been cremated."

"Yes ma'am. There are rules the Italian government has involving subjects of experimental technology research in medicine. Should a recipient of such technology die, whether it's an animal or a human, the remains must be cremated and interred inside the country. I guess it's to prevent the possible spread of bacterium outside of the immediate area, a necessary precaution in this day and age. I was not aware of this rule when I made the decision, but I can't say that knowing would have changed my mind."

"She received a proper burial?"

Ferro stepped over and sat down beside Michael. "Yes, ma'am. In the case of an unknown religious background, we have a military chaplain perform Last Rites along with appropriate Jewish and Christian readings. While that cannot cover every angle, we believe that the message probably gets where it's going."

"That's all I was really curious about. We're Catholic in our family, but Janet was a devout Christian and would have appreciated the effort you made on her behalf." She looked genuinely relieved and Michael wondered how many nights she'd stayed up worrying about it.

"Carol was your only child?"

"Yes. She met Angie and Janet at work and they were virtually inseparable, in spite of their personalities. I don't know where she got it from, but our Carol was the wild one of the three. Angela was the ditzy one, and Janet was the smart and thoughtful one. Somehow she managed to tie them all together."

"She was the quiet one?" Michael had noticed that when he'd met them.

"Yes, unless of course she had her guitar with her. She would play and sing in coffee shops and youth outings. She was very good and it seemed like the only way she could get her emotions out was to draw them out of others as well. For Carol's last birthday she wrote a song about their friendship. I wish I had a recording of it, but even after digging through the stuff from her apartment I couldn't find one."

She had a tear in her eye and a glance at Ferro showed that even she felt something from that story, a twitch in her mouth and a glance away. It was a long silent moment but Mrs. O'Malley managed to compose herself enough to continue.

"Can you tell me a little more about your agency, Miss Ferro?"

Ferro glanced at Michael for a moment before responding. Apparently she hadn't thought about that possibility.

"Well... Our agency is at the head of artificial organ and limb research, especially in children. We've had children brought to us that have lost limbs, either through injury or disease, and we fit them with a custom prosthesis that closely simulates that limb. There is some learning involved, but given time they can function almost as well as they could before. We also have a few children in our permanent care. These are the difficult cases since they are more often than not the victims of brutal assaults. One poor girl was even run over by her parents in a car to collect the insurance money. In these cases, the Agency takes custody and they are housed on-premises. Their injuries are tended to, they receive both physical and mental rehabilitation, and in time they enjoy life as much as other children. It's not perfect, but it's the best in Europe and we are very proud of that."

"It sounds like good work."

"It can be difficult at times, also. When they're first brought in they are shells of a person, often numb both in mind and soul. The physical body can be healed, but the mind takes more time, and we have to walk them through it, step by step, until they can walk on their own. It is rare, but sometimes we lose one who is unable to cope with what they remember. Those times are worse than losing one from injury, because you feel like there may have been something you missed or could have done differently that might have helped them. Sometimes I hate the job, but then I look in the eyes of a child, like little Henrietta. She was an assault victim and we gave her counseling and a prosthetic arm, and now she plays the violin with a soul that she did not have when she was brought in. It's those times I feel ashamed to have ever doubted what I do."

Michael stared at her, stunned. It had to be the most emotion anyone had ever heard from her lips and for that moment in time, her eyes seemed to be as beautiful as the sun setting behind the mountains. Maybe this was the real Ferro that he'd suspected existed, the one she covered up with all the warmth of the last ice age.

Mrs. O'Malley nodded, wiped her tears, and then excused herself, stepping down the hall to somewhere. Michael looked at Ferro who was wiping her eyes and he handed her his handkerchief, which she dabbed her eyes dry with. He was about to say something about it when Mrs. O'Malley returned with a guitar case and a shoebox. She pulled her chair closer and sat down, a somewhat stronger look on her face, one filled with resolve.

"These are from Janet's apartment and I want you to have them to help you in your work at the Agency." She opened the shoebox and there were a number of small books inside, organized neatly. "These are her diaries from since she came of age to the one she finished before the trip to Paris. She said she was going to start a new one there, but it was not sent with her other items and I fear it was lost. I've been reading the later ones to learn more about how she felt about my daughter and it has helped me immensely. She was very mature and wise in her writings, discussing everything from her own motivation to how she was dealing with her parents' deaths."

"I already said how bright of a light she was with her guitar in her hand, but in these books are words that have helped me cope with losing my own daughter. Just two weeks ago I was a wreck, unable to do anything but stare at her pictures. My poor husband had to practically force-feed me to keep my strength up. Then one day I was half-heartedly pawing through Janet's things, looking for that song I mentioned, and I came across these. One of them was placed in the box differently from the others and I naturally pulled it out first. The ribbon was marking the spot where she had started writing after her parents' accident and her words spoke to me in a way that nothing else could. It was then that I started to snap out of it and get my life back together. It still hurts, but now I know how to find the strength that she had."

Michael looked in her eyes and saw that she meant every word. Not a month after burying her daughter, this woman was reaching out to help others.

"Mrs. O'Malley, I can't accept these, especially since they're so close to your heart."

"Please. Janet was all about helping people, and if there's even a chance that one of your victims can find their own way with these, I know she'd offer them up herself. Take the guitar also. She bought it in a pawnshop for fifty dollars and there has never been a guitar made that sounded sweeter. Even if there's not a child there now that plays, I'm sure one will come along in time. Janet could make it sing to the heart of anyone and pick the listener up from his or her sorrows."

"If you're sure about this, I cannot decline such an offer. I know these can help someone there. Thank you very much. If you ever need to read her words again, please call me, and I'll bring them back personally."

"Thank you."

Ferro finished wiping her tears away and glanced at her watch. "Michael, we have to get going. Our flight leaves in less than an hour."

"Yes. I hope we've helped you in some way with our visit, Mrs. O'Malley." He stood and accepted the box from her.

"You certainly have, Mr. Christiansen. You too, Miss Ferro. I'll sleep easier knowing that Janet left this world peacefully." She escorted them to the door and then waved goodbye as they pulled away.

"I thought I was going to die of dehydration before she finished." Ferro wiped her eyes a final time and put her sunglasses on, getting back into her usual mood. Michael glanced at her in annoyance, suddenly realizing how much he'd been had alongside that poor woman.

"Crocodile tears, Ferro? And here I thought something had actually been able to crack that tough demeanor."

"College drama class. It was a sad story for sure, but I've seen a hundred more tragic and there was no bright light lifting up those peoples' lives. The world is a dangerous place filled with things that will tear us down, and most of us will not be able to get back up. All we can do is press on as hard and fast as we can until the end."

"God, I'm bringing Priscilla next time."

"Good. Flying twenty-three hours round-trip for a one-hour meeting is a waste of my time anyway."

Michael stayed awake through the entire series of flights reading Janet Wells' diaries. She certainly was a vivid person in writing. How much of this information would apply to his Cyborg, he didn't know, but Mrs. O'Malley was right: This girl was special in a way that few, if any, others were.

He snapped awake at eleven in the morning, hearing a familiar song in his head and wondering where it was coming from. He dressed quickly in his workout clothes and left the handler's dorm, following the sound of an acoustic guitar across the courtyard to the main building, down the hall, and stopped just outside the music room, seeing Jamie with her guitar in her lap, eyes closed, and singing her heart out as she played.

"_...the smile on his face, looked kind of outta place from the looks of his shirt and shoes... made me wonder what it was that kept him goin'. Spent most of his lonely young days, workin' down down in the sawmill, and a childhood is somethin' he'd never known. All that extra time he had on his mind, every now and then his heart would spill. And he'd start singin' all the way home- And he'd sing 'I...I don't know much... But I know I love...And one day I'll be sittin up in Heaven on an easy chair, sippin' lemonade, Love lives there...'_."

She finished the chorus and opened her eyes, focusing on the next verse. She caught sight of him in the doorway and stopped her playing, her face red with embarrassment at his hearing.

"No, don't stop, Jamie. I want to hear the rest." He stepped in closer to her and she gave a slightly frustrated look.

"I- I can't. I can't play when others are listening. I'm not very good."

"That was the best _The Lemonade Song_ I've heard. Where did you learn that song?"

"I don't know. I've been doing scales and chords for a while and I've just had these rhythms that go through my head and into my hands. This is the only song that has come entirely into my head. Bits and pieces are sort of rattling around in my head and when I close my eyes and relax they start to join up. I didn't even know I could sing until it started to come together."

Michael could sense her insecurity at the experience. That hole called her past was tossing things out randomly and when something finally made sense it scared her. The hell of it was that she felt like these were things she was learning now, not things she was remembering from her past.

"Show me." He sat down in the chair that Jose always used when he listened to Henrietta's violin and nodded for her to start and she shook her head.

"I can't, Michael."

"Sure you can." He got up and sat down again on the piano stool next to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and helping her to form the chords on her left hand. "Close your eyes, take a deep breath and empty your mind of everything in this room except the guitar in your hand." He felt her take several breaths and start to relax.

"Now, lets hum the song's solo." He started and she locked in on it quickly, humming the same notes, her breathing becoming more regular. Her hands started to finger the chords and she added in the strumming, quickly coming up to speed by the last verse.

" _Now Jim knew what he had inside of him and wouldn't hear nothin' different... The moral to this story is he just keeps on 'keepin' on'. Now he ain't white-washed, you won't find him on the corner prayin'... He just knows his love and knows his song... and he sings 'I- I got all I want. Cause I've got my Love, and one day I'll be sittin' up in Heaven in an easy chair, sippin' lemonade, Love lives there'."_

They repeated the last line twice more and she finished off the song with a flourish, the smile back on her face. They sat there for several minutes in silence with just the feel of each other's breathing and the sounds of the wind billowing the curtains. She finally opened her eyes and turned to him with a grateful look on her face, and silently mouthed the words "Thank you."


	3. Chapter 8 to 9

Chapter 8:

"That's incredible, Michael. She's only been playing a few months and she's already sounding like that?" Priscilla was finally being discharged from the hospital after two days of tests, poking, and prodding by the doctors. Despite feeling like her entire body was one big bruise, she was looking forward to getting out and getting some air, and maybe even back to work.

"Yeah, but I'm starting to worry a little. Her memory seems much more available than in the other cyborgs. Maybe she can't access it voluntarily, but I'm worried that something she sees or hears will bring it all flooding back. I talked to Belisario about it and he said that it's not a concern until it starts affecting her decision making on the job."

"So why are you worried?" She stretched her arms out and winced as the bruised rib made its presence known again.

"I don't know. She's a hard worker, and since we rounded that corner between us, she's operating a lot better. She and Henrietta did the shoot-house exercise today in record time and her shots are near perfect. I have to meet her there this afternoon for a combined drill. She just... I can't help but feel there's something odd about her."

"She's a cyborg, Michael. Not entirely human, not entirely machine. They don't fall into our range of experiences in ways we're comfortable with." The nurse came in and Priscilla signed the papers so she could finally escape. She climbed off the bed and put her sunglasses on to at least cover up her blackened eyes. "Walk with me? I want to see her in action."

"Sure. She's down on the pistol range practicing reloads and single-handed drills." They left the hospital and stepped into the warm late-summer sun, the breeze bringing the smell of the surrounding fields to their senses.

"God, I feel better already." She paused to bask in the sun, grateful to be out of that place. While the people were friendly and like family, they were still doctors, ever obsessed with waking you up in the middle of the night to ask if you need something to help you sleep.

"That reminds me, Priscilla... I'm sorry about getting you into that mess. I should have called in the real teams to do it."

"Michael, it's not your fault. I was careless and got myself in trouble. I'm just glad you and Jean were there to get me out when you did. They were discussing where to dump my body when Rico kicked in the door and that flash grenade went off. By the way, what intel did you get from the suspects?" They started walking to his Jaguar.

"Not much. We know there's going to be an attack. We know there's a large amount of explosives inside the country already. We also know there's someone pulling the strings on this one, but none of the suspects have been able to tell us who, even with Sodium Pentathol. We're sure the attacks are going to be against high profile targets here in Rome. Everyone's working on this as top priority now."

"Sounds like it's going to be rough." They climbed into the car and the five-minute drive to the range was made in silence. They could hear Rico warming up on the rifle range with her SVD, and someone, probably Henrietta, was firing a P90 sub-machine gun in the shoot-house, the staccato of the five-seven round and the high rate-of-fire easily differing from anything else in the arsenal.

They spotted Jamie on the open pistol range with Hilshire, watching Triela engage numerous targets in rapid succession with her Sig. It seemed like a busy day on the range. Hilshire nodded as they walked up and offered Priscilla a pair of earplugs while Michael already had his muffs on as he stepped up behind Jamie.

"How's your time today?"

"Twenty-percent decrease from last week. I think I'm getting the hang of it." She glanced at him but was all business at the moment. The big difference between the previous week and today was that her mood had improved significantly. She had seen real results from her training and was no longer bored with it, making learning almost fun again.

"Excellent." He watched Jamie finish loading seven of her PPS's magazines as she prepared to go next. "You were out early this morning. I went to see if you wanted to run with me and you were already gone."

"I just felt like getting out here before everyone else. I did five laps around the thousand-yard range then went to the indoor range."

"You've been shooting all morning?"

"Yes."

"Hm."

Triela stepped off of the line and then went to examine and paste her targets with Hilshire, noting with satisfaction that most of the shots were dead on, but not liking the occasional flyer she'd had. Triela was very good with a pistol, and surgical with her shotgun, but she was not the accuracy equal of Rico. Rico had become incredibly accurate with her CZ lately and Olympic-class with her SVD, often putting touching holes at six hundred meters. Michael wondered what Jean had done to get those results.

The other fratello stepped back to watch and Jamie stepped to the line, staring at eight targets facing her, the furthest apart at twenty-five feet and the furthest back at twenty-five yards. Michael stepped behind her with the timer.

"Okay, Jamie, same drill as Triela. Two shots each target, alternating, and outsides first. Then I want you to put two in each head from left to right. Reload as necessary. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." She holstered the gun and took a few deep breaths, signaling when she was ready.

"On the buzzer..."

The tone sounded and her gun was in her hands and leveled in a flash, the first round cruising downrange as her sights went on target. She quickly placed eight shots in the first four target chests, each pair only inches apart at most and all in the center zones. She reloaded from her thigh pocket and continued firing, taking out the last four, then reloaded again to start her left-right sweep. Another reload halfway through those and she was done with the one round remaining in the PPS's chamber.

Michael looked at the final time on the buzzer and whistled. It was almost a second below Triela's time and all of Jamie's shots were on-target, neat pairs of holes in the chest and head of each target. A glance over at Triela showed a look of professional hatred: someone with less than half of her experience had beaten her and she could not be happy about it.

"That's impressive, Michael."

"I wish I could take credit, but she's become that good on her own. She's a natural, and I think I might start her on trick shooting in a month or so." He stepped in front of Triela and squatted down to look her in the eyes. "Don't fret, Triela. You have a lot more operational experience and that speaks for itself. Those moves you pulled on Pinocchio were first rate and I doubt Jamie could take you in hand-to-hand. It's what you specialize in and you should be proud."

Whether Triela believed him or not was unknown, but at least she gave him a brief nod. Michael stood back up and caught a glance from Hilshire that made him stop and take notice. It was a look of indecision, or at least that's the way it seemed to Michael. He was debating something in his head and his face was showing signs of the internal struggle that was raging. Priscilla was talking girl-talk with Jamie about who knows what. They seemed to get along fine, almost like sisters.

"You okay, Victor? You seem distracted."

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I was going to get a drink tonight, want to go?" Michael had already started to formulate ideas about how he was going to spend his off time. He had work to do for his own sake and on his own time.

"Sure. I'll meet you in the parking lot at eight. Let's go, Triela." He shouldered their gear and led her to the car. When they were gone, Michael looked at Jamie, who was drinking from her water jug as she sat on the edge of the table, still chatting with Prissy.

"Jamie." She looked over and smiled at him. "Jamie, how about we bump up the shoot-house and free up the afternoon. It'll be hot later and I think I have an idea that we'll both enjoy and work into your training."

"What's that?"

"It's a surprise." He smiled at her and received one in return. Being a big brother wasn't so bad at times.

The surprise was a trip to The Piscina Olimpica, the large, indoor, Olympic size pool that was normally open to the public, but was closed for that week before a major swimming competition. The Agency had managed to get he and Jamie in for a few hours with a few phone calls, not bad for Michael just deciding to go that morning. They were under the guise of inspecting the facility's security, and with that taking less than an hour, the security chief offered them the use of the pool for a little while, just as they'd hoped.

All Jamie knew was that they were there to inspect the security, so when Michael handed her a small clothing bag, she didn't know what to think. She opened it and found a plain, black, one-piece swimsuit that was exactly her size. One of the few nice things about being a cyborg was that your sizes don't change. He motioned her to the women's locker room and told her he'd meet her in the pool.

The place smelled of chlorine and other disinfectant chemicals and was eerily silent but for the circulation fans humming along. Jamie paused after taking off her clothes, closing her eyes and enjoying the silence, letting the cool air wash over her.

At the dorm she had taken to showering late in the evening after the other girls had gone to their rooms to sleep or chat. There was just something about the peace of being by one's self in the shower that she couldn't seem to get there. There was always someone coming in and chatting while they shower, and even the noise of someone else in with her seemed to irk her nerves. She needed to be utterly alone at times, and she just couldn't seem to get it... Until now. The normally busy pool was empty save for Michael, and he wasn't so bad. He knew how to give her space to herself and to give her attention when she needed it.

She carried the swimsuit over to a full-length mirror and slipped into it's snug fit. It was designer brand, yet simple; form fitting, yet modest; and absolutely perfect. She turned and looked at her body in the mirror from every angle, admiring it in a way that felt as if it were fulfilling a lifelong ambition. There was no fat on her frame to do disservice to her and her flexibility was top notch compared to anyone but Petrushka, but she had the flexibility of a ballet dancer, so there was no real contest there.

The distant sound of Michael diving into the pool snapped her back to reality and she grabbed her towel and stepped quickly from the locker room in time to see him finish a lap across the narrow axis of the pool. He wiped the water from his face and spotted her, staring for a long, awkward moment.

"It's a perfect fit, Michael." She twirled in place then stepped closer, walking in a manner that he hadn't noticed in her before. Normally she seemed a bit heavy-footed, either due to the cyborg implants or the conditioning's effects on the emotions, but now she was walking more like a woman in a dress, with more hip and a smoother, more seductive gait. He must have stared long enough because she suddenly became self-conscious and brought her arms up to cover her chest, receding back into the shyness she'd been slowly working herself out of.

"What? You don't like it?" The way that the smile she wore disappeared into a sad frown nearly broke his heart, even with as hard as it had become. Michael smiled to reassure her that he approved.

"Jamie, it looks fantastic on you. I was just struck by how attractive a woman you can be when you're not wearing your usual jeans and t-shirt." The complement brought her smile back, but a shy one.

She padded softly to the edge of the pool and sat down with her feet dangling in the warm water. "I can wear whatever you want me to. If you want me to wear a skirt more often, I can." She looked away uncomfortably and her voice had grown timid, and he could tell that the idea was not one she was comfortable with.

Michael was having trouble figuring out whether this was the conditioning talking or something more. All of the cyborgs were programmed to want to please their handlers by meeting their expectations and doing what they say, but sometimes it seemed to develop into something more for the cyborg. It was hard to tell, but a few had developed what seemed like genuine love for their "brothers", with mixed responses from the handlers.

He had always assumed that he was keeping enough distance between he and Jamie in order to maintain the teacher/student relationship and that distance had been working up until recently. But since they had become closer and more open in both their off time and while training, the distance was no longer easy to define. He cared for her, he knew that, and if she were gone tomorrow, he'd probably be devastated.

But what _should_ he feel for her, for her sake. She had to protect him with her body, even to the death, if necessary. Being distant seemed unfair to her: an unequal emotional attachment. Getting too close... Well she was almost fourteen years younger than he. Being a big brother seemed like the right thing when they had started out, but he had never figured whether he might be forced to change that thinking at some point. It was getting complicated.

"You should wear whatever you're comfortable in, Jamie. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." He pushed off and started doing the backstroke, stretching several muscles he hadn't been using lately. The feeling would eventually turn into a dull pain; his repaired shoulder still ached from time to time despite the fact he had regained total mobility in it over the several years since the shooting.

He was halfway across the pool when there was a small splash followed by a mix of gurgling and splashing, a sound characteristic only to those who cannot swim. He stopped and swam as fast as he could to where Jamie had jumped in, several feet from, and just out of reach of, the side. She was flailing wildly as she tried to get buoyancy that just didn't seem to be there. She had just gone under again when Michael caught hold of her arm and pulled her over to the side, her coughing and sputtering echoing through the huge room.

"Are you okay?" She did not answer, but gave a nod, the coughing and gasping for air her only concern at the moment. "I figured swimming would be in your basic life skills training. What the hell happened?"

Jamie took several deep breaths and managed to calm down enough to answer. "Couldn't float." She coughed again and looked through teary eyes at the spot she'd jumped in. "I went under and didn't float back up. I guess I panicked and managed to get to the surface, but felt like I was going to sink again."

Michael blinked twice at that. The cyborgs were slightly heavier than a normal person, and they had no fat to act as ballast. Were they negatively buoyant and prone to sinking if not working to stay afloat? He had to admit that he hadn't thought about it at all before now, and he certainly hadn't asked the technicians about it.

"Here... Let go of the side and put your arms out straight, flat on the water." He saw the look of fear in her eyes and had to smile to reassure her. "I'll be right here to keep you safe. I just need to see how well you float when calm."

"Err...okay. Just don't let me go under." He held onto her until her arms were straight out, and then gently let her go. She sank slightly, but remained afloat, the surface tension of her arms on the water keeping her there.

"Okay. Now, sweep your arms slowly towards the front." She did so and as her arms reached a forty-five degree angle to her body, she started to sink. He could feel her feet kicking to stay afloat but she continued down until he grabbed her under her arms and held her up. "Jamie, I hate to tell you, but you can't float worth a damn."

This was a hell of a thing. She was apparently just shy of neutrally buoyant, but her center of gravity was different from a normal person as well. As long as her arms were out straight, she could stay afloat, but as soon as there was a change in her balance to counter her arms going forward, she started to go under.

"I'm sorry, Michael."

"It's not your fault. I think it might be a design problem with your body. Lets get out and we'll go back to base. I'll discuss the problem with the tech crew and see what they say." He helped her out of the pool and then climbed out himself, sticking near to the edge to avoid messing up the floors and enraging the cleaning crews.

Jamie had that sad look on her face again, and framed by her dripping wet hair she was a pitiful sight. "But... you like my body the way it is. They might have to change it to fix the problem." Michael tossed his towel over her head and started fluffing it dry against her muffled protests.

"I'll like you no matter what they change. You're more than just a body to me, Jamie." He pulled the towel off and smiled at her, trying to get her confidence back. She seemed indestructible at times and so fragile at others. "Now, go shower and change, then meet me in the lobby."

Jamie wrapped her own towel around her and shuffled off, still with that sad look and none of the confidence from when she'd come in. Great, Michael thought. He had just told a woman, who loves him on some level, that he'd found a flaw with her body. He'd have to get her something to smooth things over, because the likely-hood of the technicians having to make a major change was pretty good, and that would leave a lasting impression on her.

The shower felt soothing to Jamie's nerves and washed the overpowering smell of the chlorine away, but all she really wanted was to cry. No tears came, but the feeling was there and she felt that if she could only cry her heart out for even a minute, all would be right with the world. Maybe that was why none of the cyborgs felt whole; the cost of continuing their lives was to sacrifice their one true outlet for their most powerful emotions.

Chapter 9: Drinking for Success

The pub was one that the Agency people seemed to frequent, likely because it was the closest to the facility. But the atmosphere was also a good reason to go there, Michael decided. Tastefully done in the European tradition, it was comfortable and had an old world flavor to it. They even had a house beer they made on-site, which was pretty good.

Hilshire found his usual table while Michael got their beers, the house special, at his suggestion. By the time he returned, Victor had gotten comfortable watching the sports scores. They toasted their beers for beer's sake and each took a long pull, finally finding something in common between them.

Well, Michael thought, a second thing between them. He suspected the first thing might be the reason Victor was looking so down lately.

"What's this I hear about Jamie needing repairs?" He didn't look away from the TV as he drank his beer.

"She's having trouble in water. She's got all the buoyancy of a cement ship with a leak and I think it might be a design problem. Her balance is all wrong when she tries to float. They're going to go through some tests and all the design files. Maybe there's something simple they missed."

"Well, it could be worse." The beer was exceptional here. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Hm? I was really wondering if you needed a friendly ear to listen for a little while. You seemed distracted today and I figured we could have a talk and maybe trade for some favors."

"Favors, Christiansen, are deadly sometimes."

"Or depressing." He let that comment hang in the air and saw that Hilshire understood it. Michael had work to do, and Victor had already done his own. Michael finished his beer and motioned for another round for them.

"How far are you willing to take this?" Having been where Michael was at now, he understood the desire, but experience had shown him that reality is more than just desires. He had switched to English, his German accent and grammar a change Michael was not prepared for in the conversation. It actually took him a moment to remember how to speak it, so adjusted he'd become to speaking to everyone but Jamie in Italian.

"Hmm?"

"Once you start, you cannot stop until you reach the end. What is that song you American's have? 'Life is a highway'?" Michael nodded and sipped his fresh beer. "Michael, the first thing I learned when I started on the case was that the things you learn on the way change you... And by the time you actually make some progress, you can no longer go back and forget it. Failure means living with the images and having no satisfaction that justice was done."

"That's where you're at? You started but were pulled away by Triela?"

"Something like that. Occasionally I pick up a hint of something through my contacts, but it's not like I'm working the case actively. You, I think, mean to spend time on yours."

Michael's face hardened as he leaned closer, his voice barely audible beyond the table. " I want those sons of bitches, and I'm not going to stop until I have them locked away."

Hilshire had seen his share of people with an axe to grind, and all of them had such a face as Michael wore. The emotion was one thing to have; the determination to follow through on it was another, and unless you could keep going past your own breaking point, you could not succeed. Such was the nature of vengeance.

"You do this for her?"

"I do it for myself. I sent her and her friends to the place they were taken from." He took a drink and slammed the mug down on the table, giving voice to his frustration with a low growl.

"That reasoning will not take you very far. It wasn't your fault and you'll eventually realize that. Your quest will end there but you'll never feel satisfaction. You should just admit that you're doing it for her, at least that will take you farther."

"I've read through the diaries of the girl she used to be. She was such a kind and wonderful soul. She did not deserve what happened to her." Those writings had been a light in the dark for him. They spoke of who Janet Wells had been, how she thought, and what she wanted to be, and it was interesting that many of the qualities she had wished she could have were now manifesting themselves in Jamie's personality. It was like she had a second chance to be something other than what she had been. Why Janet had wanted to be something different, he didn't know. Maybe it was further on in her writings.

"No one deserves for things like that to happen to them. But if you are going to take action, it will help if you decide to do it to prevent someone else from becoming a victim. Vengeance is an ugly word, Revenge the more so. If you put a positive outcome in your sights, the saving of others, it is no less ugly, but at least you can live with it."

"Yeah." Michael finished his glass and leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table in thought. "Where do I start, though?"

"Prague." Hilshire dug a folded scrap of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. "Last week I received a call from one of my contacts there. Jamie's video has hit the market there and my contact said the distributor he spoke with might point you in the direction of the makers. It is not much, but it is a start."

Michael had turned almost beet red upon hearing that the video was for sale. Sickos that get off on the killing of other people were paying money to see his Jamie being cut to pieces. He took the slip of paper and read it, locking it into his memory. One person at a time was all he needed to make progress.

"Thank you, Victor. I owe you."

"Are you taking Jamie?"

"No. This is my hunt. Besides, the only time I can pursue this is when we're not working. I have about a week before she'll be ready again and I should be able to make some progress in that time."

"Take your time and cover your tracks well. And do not get your hopes too high immediately. It might take some time for your results to start coming to you. The most important ally of an investigator is patience."

Michael nodded. "Patience I have."

It was a little past midnight when they returned to the Agency, the buildings dark but for the occasional lit window where someone was hard at work on whatever. Hilshire said goodnight and left Michael looking at the cyborg dorm and Jamie's lit window, thinking about what he was going to say. She wouldn't like the idea of his going off alone, especially since she was going to be laid up and bored the whole time, but things had to move now while the trail was warm.

Her room was halfway down the hall on the second floor and there were still a few lights on, casting their tapered glows into the dimmed hall from under the doors. One of the newest second-generation cyborgs (he couldn't remember her name) passed by him with a shy and irritated look. She was wrapped only in a towel and was probably feeling her privacy violated by his presence this late at night. She still had the walk that the newer ones had, lacking grace and still learning the proper way to control their legs. She had just been released to training two weeks earlier and it seemed like they were really cranking them out now.

Jamie's door was cracked an inch and he heard her softly conversing with Petra in Italian. She strummed a few chords on her guitar experimentally, and then started to pick out a rhythm that was vaguely familiar.

"_Johnny told his mama, 'Hey, mama I'm goin away...I'm gonna hit the big time, gonna big star someday.' Mama came to the door, with a teardrop in her eye... Johnny said, 'Don't cry, mama. Smile and wave goodbye'. Don't you know? Don't you know?" _

She started into the chorus but her fingers missed the chord and she stopped with a huff of frustration. Michael chose that moment to knock softly.

"Who is it?"

He had to admit her Italian was getting to be pretty good. Like the last time, he responded in English. "Your biggest fan."

"Michael! Come in."

He stepped in and closed the door behind him, smiling at Petra who returned it. She was stretched out on the floor in one of her usual ballet exercises and he motioned for her not to worry about getting up.

"I thought I'd drop in to see how you were doing after today."

"I'm fine. I'm not looking forward to dealing with the tests, but I think I'll manage." Her anxiety was plain on her face and Michael suspected she was playing her guitar to relieve some of the stress.

Her shelf had a CD player with headphones and a stack of CDs of various groups and titles, most of whom he knew. She was expanding out her base from just the things she remembered, and that was a good sign. She was using what she retained from her previous life to forge a new one and was getting comfortable in it. Jamie saw his eyes fix on the music.

"I um... I ask Petra to buy some things for me while she's out with Sandro."

"Why didn't you just ask me? You know I'd buy them for you if you asked."

"You don't go out of the compound all that often and I didn't want to burden you with an extra trip out." She was looking down in embarrassment, knowing that she had made him unhappy again.

"Jamie..." Michael stepped over and sat down beside her on the bed. "You are the most important person to me and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. We both serve the Agency, but all we really have is each other, so everything we do must be to help the other."

Jamie looked up at him with her beautiful eyes and smiled softly. "You'd make a special trip into Rome for me?" When he nodded she laughed and handed him a list from under her pillow. "Good, I need these albums, oh, and a pack of strings." She took the paper back and scribbled down the type of strings. "I need a lighter sound and these just can't do the job."

Michael knew that he'd been had. Petra was smiling and he figured that they had been planning all evening and waiting patiently to strike. He could admire the ambush if he wasn't the target of it. As much as he'd like to do it, her task had to wait.

"I'm sorry, but at the moment, Rome is a little out of my way. I have to leave for Prague tomorrow morning for a week. There's some work I have to do there while the doctors are working on you, and I'm probably not going to get any shopping done." Jamie deflated visibly, not an act this time.

"You're going without me?"

"Yes."

"But who's going to protect you if I'm not there?" She was genuinely worried and he felt for her.

"It's nothing dangerous, Jamie. I'm just going to talk to some people there." His statement did little to calm her fears, so he brushed the hair back from her eyes and tilted her chin up to look her in them. "It's not going to be a problem, but should anything even remotely seem dangerous, I'll go deep undercover and no one will find me. I have a few friends there, and they'll help me if I need it. I promise you, I'll be back in about a week. Maybe I'll bring something nice back for you."

She seemed to calm down and nodded that she understood. He wasn't leaving her there; he was simply taking advantage of her maintenance time to get something done. Didn't that mean that she was in the way of something he wanted to do?

"You don't have to do that, Michael. Just hurry back."

"I will. You have my word." He stood up and leaned down by Petrushka. "Petra, I want you to visit her every day in the hospital. She gets lonely and starts talking to herself if no one stops in."

"Not true!" Jamie playfully threw a pillow at him, hitting him in the head, then acted like she was sulking. He laughed at her and threw it back gently, then continued to the door. "Just have Petra get whatever you need, Jamie. I'll be back in a week."

He closed the door and heard Petra say, "What am I, your delivery service now?" This was directed at Jamie and, from the muffled cry and thump, was answered with another pillow to the face. Things had to go as planned in Prague, or he'd be wasting a lot of time. It was true that he had a few contacts in Prague, but they all worked for Langley, so how many of them could he trust absolutely?

Only one that he could think of.


	4. Chapter 10 to 11

Chapter 10: The Prague "Incident"

It had been almost four years since he'd been in Prague, and he was glad to see that like most European cities, things tended not to change much. It was still a melting pot of numerous cultures; most of who contributed to it's many rises and falls over the past thousand-plus years. Some survived, some did not, but all left their marks in it's history.

As Michael walked past the Astronomical Clock, the feelings, smells, and sounds of that last night he was there came flooding back. The raid, the excitement, and the fear... the people he'd saved and those he'd killed. The images from his ride in the back of the speeding car to the embassy and then the chopper-ride out, both viewed through a haze of pain from his shoulder. It was all washing back through his mind and had even started his shoulder to aching again. It took some effort to shake off as he reached the underground entrance he wanted.

The trains were on time and almost to the second, and he managed to get himself onboard one just as it was leaving. As he looked back at the entrance, two men in overcoats pushed their way through and threw their hands up in anger. They had caught onto him after he left the airport and were likely CIA, keeping tabs on him while in the country. He couldn't have them messing up his plans, which was why his bag contained several disguises on loan from Alessandro and the bag itself was reversible to a different color.

He rode the train three stops then got off suddenly just before it departed, just like when he got on. No one tried to follow him, so he was pretty sure he was in the clear, but being lax on the precautions got you caught in this business. There was a maintenance room off to the side and he used a key on his infiltration key ring to open it. Four years since he'd been there last and no one had changed the locks, wasn't that something?

When he emerged, he was dressed as a deliveryman with a goatee and carrying a black duffle, rather than a man in a trench coat with a red one. His destination was only a few blocks over and through several alleys and he did not stick out enough to warrant attention. He pulled a large rectangular box from the trash at one point and put his bag in it, figuring it best if he had a box rather than a bag.

He observed his target as he approached; noting that the same type of flower in the same type and color of pot was on the windowsill, so it was likely the tenant was still the same. He could only hope so. Would they remember the code phrase? Would they even accept him? They were CIA, after all, and old friend or no, they might be afraid of Langley's wrath should they help him. No, this person was his only friend here in Prague, and he'd get the help he needed.

Michael made his way up the three flights quickly and found the right door and the sound of pots and pans moving around and the radio or television in the background could be heard. Good, someone was home and he'd not have to break in. He knocked loudly four times and the radio went silent. There was a long silence during which he imagined he was being checked out through the peephole.

"Who is it?" A woman spoke in Russian and with a hostile tone.

"Universal Exports. I have a delivery and need a signature." His Russian was weak, but understandable. There was a long pause and he wondered if she were reaching for a gun, and considering the possibility that she might actually shoot him through the door.

"Michael?" The door cracked open on its chain and the woman looked out at him. "Michael is that you?"

"Is there anyone else that uses that phrase?"

She looked past him down the hall with a glare. "Were you followed?"

"Not unless your boys picked me up in the past several minutes." The door slammed shut and he heard the chain being removed. It opened again and she stood before him, the same tall blonde he'd last seen four years earlier.

"Hello Tatyana."

She pulled him in the door, slammed it shut and threw him back against it, wrapping her arms around his neck in a passionate kiss. Though startled at first, Michael was soon enveloped in the familiar scent of her perfume, the feel of her soft lips, and her seemingly bottomless well of passion. He, of course, responded in turn, not being one to ignore his own drives. She finally pulled away for air and left Michael leaning against the door with a surprised but pleased look on his face.

"That was unexpected." Tatyana, or Tanya (her American born name), spoke both English and Russian fluently, so he switched back to English for his own sake.

Tanya smiled at him. "That was for old-time's sake." She stepped back and slapped him hard across the face, nearly knocking him off his feet. The smile was gone and replaced by a very angry Russian look. "And that is for leaving me in the car while you ran off to play hero and get shot. Bastard." She stormed into the kitchen and started to chop vegetables again.

"Sorry, I didn't know you wanted to go."

"We were partners, Michael. What part of partners is so hard to comprehend? We were supposed to watch each other's backs."

"There was a lot of shooting, Tanya. I didn't want you to get hurt." He set his box down and locked the door before stepping towards her. She flicked the chef's knife up and pointed it at him menacingly, her eyes cold, hard slits.

"Bullshit. You had to play the hero and it nearly killed you. I hope you learned something from that experience." She dumped the cuttings into a steaming pan on the stove and stirred it in.

Michael sat on the bar stool on the other side of the counter from where she was working, making sure to keep out of range of her knife. It wasn't as though that would stop her, though. She was one of the best knife people he'd ever seen, though she wasn't bad with a gun, either. "Yes, I did. I've changed quite a bit since then."

"That's not what I've heard. You managed to get two agents under you killed and the agency left you to be killed by the Paris mafia, that sounds like the same Michael Christiansen to me." She pulled a few spices from the cupboard and carefully added them. She was a meticulous cook, a soft side that clashed violently with her hard, operator persona. She was just as likely to cook for an enemy as to kill them and, on a few occasions, she had used both to take out people untouchable to a bullet or blade. One of the things Michael had fallen in love with her over was the way she could simply turn off her violent side and be a loving and passionate woman.

"I had them trying to save kids who were about to blown to pieces. I've learned a few things since then, Tanya. Being cut off and an ocean away from home made me realize how foolish I'd been at times, especially involving you." His voice softened and Tanya could tell he was being genuine at that moment. He had never been able to hold anything back from her, especially his emotions. Part of what they shared was allowing themselves to drop their guard and feel, and share those feelings; something that they could not do otherwise, and which often burned-out or killed operatives.

She was listening now, finishing up the work on the stew and adjusting it to serve two. "And what have you learned?" She leaned on the counter with both elbows, playing with the knife in her hand absently, like an accountant would a cheap pen while reading stacks of numbers.

"That I was a fool. I should have taken more time for you because you were the only person in the world that gave a damn for me. Instead, I was off working every chance I had, breaking into peoples' houses in the middle of the night and tearing up the place. Bedding suspected agents for scraps of information we already had, when I should have been here with you. All for a cheap thrill and rush of adrenaline. There are moments that I think about you and feel incredibly stupid."

She stepped to the refrigerator and pulled some other items out for the meal, adjusting the stove on the way back to the counter. His revelation wasn't exactly news. They both had been physically unfaithful, if not emotionally. Sometimes the job required it and that was that.

"So now you've come crawling back four years later? What is it you want from me, exactly? Hot sex? Should I lift my skirt, drop to the floor and beg for it?"

"I'm here on personal business related to my new job, and I need your help. I really didn't think you'd still be here, but I figured that I had nothing to lose but my pride since I was already about as low as one could get."

Tanya loaded two bowls with the stew, added them to two small salads and a half-loaf of bread, and laid them out on the counter, pulling a stool over for herself. She still was not looking at him directly; instead staring into the living room in thought. Why should she help him?

"Well, any later and I wouldn't have been here. I'm moving to a new area next week and after five years in this place, it'll be great to get away from it." She looked him in the eyes, her look showing every bit of her displeasure with him. "Any emotional attachment I had to it left with you that night." She started eating and he followed suit. He'd always loved her cooking.

"And that kiss at the door?"

"I had to know for certain what I felt. Despite the effort I put into it, nothing inside me yearns for you anymore. What I felt for you then is now long dead." Tanya's voice was flat and emotionless. She really felt nothing at that moment and Michael had to admit that he had been surprised, but not aroused by her kiss. He also had felt nothing.

Maybe it was better that way. It made asking her for help somewhat easier.

"I see."

They fell into a silence for the remainder of the meal and the occasional glance between them found only veiled thoughts that neither was willing to share. It brought to Michael's mind the cafe scene in "Two for the Road" where the happy, unmarried couple observes a married couple seated at the table, completely ignoring each other in a bitter silence. Perhaps it was the reverse in this instance, but he found the thought amusing enough to make him laugh softly to himself. Tanya's attention shifted back to him.

"What?"

"Hm?" He had been so deep inside his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed he'd laughed audibly.

"You laughed. What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"No, really. I want to know why you're laughing all of a sudden." She finished her meal and sat back to wait for Michael to explain himself. He took the last bites of his stew and continued smiling as he thought about how to explain his thoughts.

"I was just thinking... 'What kind of people just sit in a restaurant and don't say one word to each other'?"

Tanya had a bewildered look on her face at first, and then she strained to think of where she'd heard it before. It came back slow, bringing back a memory of a quiet night between them, curled up under a blanket and watching a movie in the dark. There were only a few movies they'd watched like that: _Casablanca_, _Wait until Dark_, and _Two for the Road_. She smiled softly as the memory came back to it's full vision in her mind; Michael's arm wrapped around her from behind, the gentle squeeze from his arm and the kisses to the top of her head at the romantic parts...

"Married people."

"Not an exact parallel, but I was laughing at the imagery; two people eating and not saying a word to one another. From an outsider's vantage point, they could even be strangers. Only two people that have loved could be so unhappy with each other that they look like complete strangers."

"Yeah." Her voice trailed off and she thought for a moment before getting up and reaching into a high cupboard, pulling a bottle of Vodka from it. "My glasses are packed away already, do you mind sharing the bottle?"

"No. I'd be honored." He gestured chivalrously for her to lead the way to the love seat. It was still as comfortable as he remembered and Tanya drew her legs up under her, just like she used to. It was always amazing to see how little people change in some ways and so much in others. She pulled the top and took a large swig before handing it over to him. It was her favorite brand, a premium imported from Mother Russia, where Vodka could not get any better, and it was strong and smooth, a perfect way to get drunk on a perfect night for it.

As if on cue, the rain started from the darkening sky, and the sound of the droplets hitting the metal balcony filled the silence between them. They passed the bottle back and forth, watching each other to see who would break the silence first. Tanya gave in when they had downed half the bottle and the night left them in darkness but for the glow of streetlamps filtering through the curtains.

"I need to know something."

"What's that?"

"Why didn't you call from Germany?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were transported from the embassy here to Ramstein by chopper and plane, then you did your recovery from the base hospital there. Why didn't you call me when you were recovering?"

"I don't know." He took another swig, wondering how bad this was going to get.

"No...no. You didn't call your girlfriend who had driven your bleeding, unconscious body to the embassy so you could get decent medical help. You cannot tell me that you forgot."

"I didn't say 'I forgot'. I said 'I don't know why I didn't call'."

She leaned over and snatched the bottle from him, her eyes like daggers, nicking away at his soul. "You sure are quite the liar now, aren't you."

"So are you? You're just as guilty at that as I."

"How's that?"

"You never called to check on me. Had you wanted to, you would have gotten right through and we wouldn't be having this conversation." He had her there and she knew it. If she were so worried about him as she claimed, she would have called.

She had to admit he was right on that. "Touché." She put the bottle aside and picked up a cigarette pack from the end table, drawing one from it and lighting up, exhaling the smoke at him.

"My turn?"

Tanya gestured magnanimously, cigarette in hand. "Be my guest."

"When did you stop loving me?" He was feeling the affects of the liquor and had to know the answer, regardless of how he felt about it.

"The same moment I started smoking." She had been a clean-lung freak as long as he'd known her, so to see her smoking would have been a shock if Michael were sober.

"And that was?"

Tanya sighed, looking first to the heavens then at him. Why not tell him the truth? "While I was standing in the waiting room of the embassy infirmary, waiting for you to die."

She could see he needed further elaboration to break through his impaired brain. "I stopped loving you when I realized that I no longer mattered in your life. It was no longer important to you to come back to me each night, safe and sound. It was all about the feeling the job gave you: the sense of satisfaction, the entitlement, and the power. When you jumped out of that car to save those agents, you weren't thinking about saving them so they could go home. You were thinking about saving them to boost your own self-esteem and sense of importance."

"That's not true."

"Oh? Then why didn't you wait for me to come with you like we were trained? Why did you rush in there like John Clark or James Bond with only your carry-piece, against a superior force, entirely against what you have always known and said was wrong?"

That stopped his protests cold. He certainly had always told others to think their way through things, to use brains to respond, rather than balls. They had even been told that very evening by their team-leader to keep sharp and think before acting, since the plan would likely go down the tubes very quickly. Even so, he had jumped into the action at the first call for help, never thinking about her.

The rain was really coming down outside now and the rhythm was merging with the buzzing in his head from the vodka.

"Why did I do it?" Michael's brain worked to find an answer, as much for his own satisfaction as for her. The only possible explanation was exactly as she'd said: It was all about his ego. If he had given one thought at all to her feelings, he wouldn't have done that or any of the other foolish things he had over the years. It was that same ego that filled the gap she had left in him, but ego was worthless as a companion.

"I did it because at some point in our relationship I started thinking of things other than you. Selfish things that are temporary at best, and were all stripped away when I was booted out. The things that can fill a void for a time, but you end up with an empty hole in your soul. If you and I had been together when I was kicked out, I don't think I would have been devastated as I was, because I would have had you. Instead, I was the world's biggest bastard in the way I treated you, you left me, and I've been incomplete since. I'm only now realizing that, Tanya, and if there's anything I say that you can find truth in, its that I am extremely sorry at how I used you then."

Tanya was speechless as he barred his soul. He had looked her in the eyes and told her the entire truth, ending it with the most sincere apology that she had ever heard from a man. The feelings she'd had for him were not going to return, but she did not feel as angry about what had happened to their relationship. "Michael..." Really, what was there to say? "I forgive you."

He sighed, feeling some relief at having finally resolved all of this mess between them.

"It doesn't change how I feel now, but I really can't be angry with you anymore."

"That's all I've really wanted between us since then. Some kind of parting on terms I could live with."

The clock ticked over to midnight and Tanya suddenly felt exhausted, the liquor and emotions catching up to her and the rain still falling outside.

"Do you have a hotel already?"

Michael glanced at the clock and frowned. "No. I came straight here. It's probably too late to grab a room in one that isn't being watched by the CIA."

"You can stay here tonight on the couch or floor." She slipped off of the sofa and went to a box in the corner to dig out a few blankets and pillows. "Just so you know, my bedroom is off-limits and you won't live to crawl out if you enter while I sleep."

"I wasn't even thinking about it. But can I at least use the bathroom first before you hole up in there?" The only bathroom in the apartment was only accessible through the bedroom. One of those weird interior design issues, he guessed.

"Just make sure you put the seat down. I've had four years of not having to do it and I'm not going to start again right before I move out."

Michael waved as he went through the door to the bedroom and Tanya waited until he had closed the bathroom door before she stepped to where he'd put his bag down, and then she carried it over to the sofa and started to dig through it, finding his papers.

Some really good false Interpol credentials were inside along with his notebook, which was new and there was nothing in there but a small shopping list and an address. His other clothes were rolled up in that peculiar way he had that allowed him to shove half a suitcase into a small duffle, and his favorite fanny pack was there, complete with his burglar's tools. There was also a nylon belt-pack with four spare magazines of forty-caliber ammunition and a suppressor on the bottom. None of that stuff could have been on the plane with him and she wondered how he'd managed to get it in the country.

The last thing Tanya found in the bag was a small notebook with many pages, nothing like what Michael, a creature of habits, normally carried. She opened it and found a woman's handwriting on every page, catching snippets of the writing as she flipped slowly through it. It was a diary of a young woman.

"Why would he be reading this," she thought aloud without realizing.

"You're not a very stealthy snoop, Tatyana."

She turned towards him with a guilty look and closed the diary, holding it out to him. "What is this?"

"It's just what it looks like. It belonged to someone I knew for a short time, and she's the reason I'm here." He took it from her and put it back into the bag, sitting down and placing it on the floor at his side. "She was killed by a snuff-film gang and I'm here to start tracking them down."

" 'Knew for a short time...' That's not exactly like you."

"What?"

"To go out of your way for someone you barely know. I could believe it if it were me, but I can't see you getting close enough to someone else to quest for vengeance."

"We weren't exactly close, Tanya. She was just someone I met, and I happened to stumble on her murder scene a few hours later. Her two friends were also killed, and one of their mothers' gave me a box with these diaries. The details aren't important, but I'm determined to find the people that killed her." He was lying to her as convincingly as he could, hoping she couldn't read far enough into it to see that he was. It was almost entirely true, after all.

"You're not here for intelligence reasons?" She _was still_ CIA, after all, and had probably heard that he'd gone over to the Italians. His presence in Prague was probably peaking their interests, as paranoid as they could be.

"No. I'm on my own time and dime. That's part of the reason I came to you. You're the only person I trust here and if things got messy, and I figured you'd help me."

She pulled the magazine pouch from the bag and waved it in front of him. "_IF_ things got messy?"

"I don't have the luxury of being good with knives and that was only for last resort. I'm mainly here to meet with a dealer who said he had a copy of her tape. I'm hoping he can be persuaded to give up some info that might help."

She nodded, knowing that he knew better than to cause a ruckus in a strange place with no backup. It had never stopped him before, but he certainly knew better. "Should I even ask how you got this stuff in the country?"

"Diplomatic bag, same way as we used to. No magic there, sorry. I've got it lined up to get it out also." He took the pouch and put it back in the bag, zipping it shut. The Diplomatic bag was a favorite way for any intelligence service to get things from their home country to another without issues. By international treaty, a country's diplomatic bag was off-limits to search, scan, or seizure. Everyone knew that the intelligence services moved things via this perfect route, but since everyone did it, it wasn't exactly something to complain about, lest you suddenly find your own bag spilled out for the world to see.

"Can I see it?" She couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying now.

"Be my guest." He removed it from his hip holster and cleared it for safety before handing it to her. "I've only had it a few weeks, but it's been flawless on the range."

Tanya felt the weight of the weapon, admitting that it wasn't bad balance for a polymer-framed gun. "The new Smith, eh? I've been trying to get the agency to issue me the compact nine-millimeter model, but they've been stalling on me." She racked the slide a few times to feel the action and then fired it empty, noting the trigger's feel. "Did you work the trigger?"

"I had them do it at the factory. It's about four pounds and that annoying hitch is gone. It feels just about right. Are you still shooting that P99 you had?"

She handed his gun back to him, thinking about how four years earlier he'd said he would never get rid of his 1911 that he liked. "I still have it, but I'm using the compact version now so that I don't have to carry in my purse. Want to see it?" She stood halfway up and started to unfasten her pants to take the holster off.

"Not tonight, Tanya. I've already experienced everything there is there and besides, I have a headache." The buzz was starting to wear off, but he knew he'd be hung over the next morning. Tanya stood the rest of the way up and hit him in the face with a pillow, not appreciating his joke.

"Hmph. And here I thought you had learned how to treat a lady." She went to the bedroom door and paused in it, looking back at him with a smile. "It really is good to see you again, Michael, and I'm glad we can be civil towards each other again. Oh, and don't think I'm lying about my bedroom, either. If you come in here, you won't be leaving."

He smiled back. "Who said I wanted to leave? I can't think of a better place to die."

"Bastard." She smiled at him again and closed the door between them.

"Michael... Michael wake up." From somewhere Jamie's voice was calling to him. He felt his way to it, slowly coming back to consciousness.

"Michael..." Michael felt himself being shook, the voice in his head morphing into someone else's, someone more familiar to him. He heard a pounding noise, like a giant walking across his domain, and it was getting louder. It soon became overwhelming and he felt it in his head, the rhythmic pounding of the giant. It became louder still, going beyond what he had ever experienced, and as the fog in his brain started to lift, there was an intense pain as well.

Michael finally managed to open his eyes and the light streaming in from the windows made the pain worse. His mouth was dry as cotton and he shielded his eyes from the light as best he could, wishing everything in the world would just go the hell away. The giant's footsteps were coming closer again and he looked to the direction he thought it was coming from, only to find that the sound was inside him, his pulse pounding in his ears.

"Ugh," was about all he was able to say as things came into focus. A soothing hand touched his shoulder reassuringly and put a glass of water in front of him."

"Here, Michael." He recognized the voice finally; it was Tanya, the woman he used to love. "Drink this, it'll help. There's also a bottle of Tylenol on the kitchen table when you can manage to make it in there." It was a dirty, old trick of hers. If someone's hung-over, put a bottle of painkiller somewhere they will have to exercise conscious effort to get to. She claimed it got the brain functioning quicker, but Michael had to admit that it was more likely she did it just for laughs. He drained the glass of water and appreciated it, but he also knew if he wanted another, he'd have to get it himself. The first drink is free, the rest you pay dearly for.

He managed the journey with his aching eyes and throbbing head and found the Tylenol right where she promised along with breakfast. As he watched her he realized that she was not immune from the effects of the previous night, her movements slower and more forcefully controlled than normally. She covered it well enough.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem. Now, suppose you tell me the rest of the details of your work here?" She plopped an omelet onto his plate and another onto her own.

"I don't even remember where I left off." The omelet was incredible, both spicy and flavorful.

"Picking up a tape and asking for my help."

"Mm. I have to call and meet this contact today and get the tape. I also need to squeeze him for some idea of where it came from. This is a contact from another friend of mine, so I can't rough him up. He'll probably play ball, but I might have to push a bit. I have to pick up some cash first though.

"And my part?"

"Back me up and help me run the trail down as far as I can go in a few days."

"I can help you tomorrow, but not today. I have to finish packing and complete some work for Langley before I move. By the way, my station chief called this morning asking me if I have seen you lately. He's wondering why you're here and how you disappeared yesterday."

"That figures. What did you tell him?" He was not concerned except for any interference they might cause him.

"That I haven't seen you in four years and that I was the last person in the world that would help you. That should buy you some time, but try to keep low on their collective radar. Some of the newer people are really good at tailing and you'll never know they're there." She finished her meal and took both their plates to the sink, scrubbing them quickly and setting them aside to be packed. "You'll need to get a hotel room also. You can't stay here again because it's only a matter of time before another agent pops in and finds you."

"I understand. Thanks for the couch last night. It's kind of like old times."

"Yeah." Tanya went into her bedroom and closed the door, leaving him alone to finish waking up from the hangover. When she returned ten minutes later she was dressed and ready to head out. "I'm going to the office so lock up when you leave. If you need me, I'll be home about two this afternoon. I took the liberty of putting my cell number in your phone as 'pizza shop'. Make sure you call ahead and check your six if you have no choice but to come over."

"Thanks. I'll owe you one."

"You already owe me a lot more than that. Maybe one day I'll come to collect." She left with a smile and he was alone again, but not as lonely as he had been when he arrived.

The meeting place was a small restaurant on the west bank of the Vltava River. It was a small place with a dim interior, but the smells of the food were incredible. Michael walked in and spotted his contact immediately, wearing the agreed upon dark green hat and brown coat and seated in the back of the place. Michael himself had his trench coat and Bogart-style fedora, and looking good in it, he thought.

He approached the table and watched the eyes of his informant as he looked up. He wasn't scared at all, and that meant he was operating as a businessman, not an informant. Getting useful information from him was going to cost Michael more than just time.

"Good morning, sir." Michael's German was fluent and he could see the appreciation in the man's face. There weren't likely to be many German speakers in the room with them to overhear.

"Good morning." He motioned Michael to the chair across from him. "You are a friend of Victor?"

"Not quite. I'm a co-worker and working along the same lines as he. He said you have a tape I might be interested in."

"It is the tape he inquired about earlier this summer. A copy finally came through my shop and I thought he might still be interested in buying it. When I called him he said he might have someone else that wanted it, but he refused to elaborate further. You understand Herr Christiansen that I am a businessman and my time is money. I have had several generous offers for this tape and I have held onto it in the hopes Victor would be willing to pay what it is worth."

"And that would be?"

"Ten thousand dollars, American."

"That's pretty steep, Herr Klein. The average film goes for only a few hundred to a thousand at most. What makes this one so special?" This guy was trying to get every penny he could, it seemed.

"Most of those films are faked. You pay for the quality, you see, and those who are interested in such things are connoisseurs, demanding exceptional realism. The ones that look faked are worthless while the ones that are well-staged are worth more."

"And this one?"

"It is certainly not staged. Interpol has spent a lot of effort to catch the people who made this particular film and they have never been caught. Their films are virtually priceless on the market as they are always the genuine material and sickening an act as it is, it is good money if you remain at liberty."

Michael was starting to dislike this man but managed to hold his impassive face, giving away nothing for free since he was going to have pay for what he wanted.

"Have you watched it?"

"A little. I have no stomach or fetish for such a movie and my interest is only to determine its value. It's rare for them to catch Americans, or even women that age. The normal victims are European children, as you know. This film has the stalking, assault, and murder of three young American women, and that alone is worth a small fortune. I cannot begin to surmise what made them choose these victims, but the unusual nature of the film is causing the demand. From the makers' point of view, it was a marketing triumph."

Michael could no longer hold his disgust in the face of this man. "Doesn't it bother you to sell these things?"

"I am a businessman, Herr Christiansen. There is a market for everything if you can find it. To my knowledge, there are only fifty copies of this film at the moment. The producers tightly control the quality films to prevent a drop in demand and as long as the sellers play along, the money keeps flowing. It's in no one's interest to flood the market with something like this."

"What about piracy?"

"It is rumored that the maker of the film has a small army to deal with such 'opportunists'. I expect this is also why several Interpol detectives have turned up in their films as well." Herr Klein seemed to know quite a bit about things in the business and was right on most of it. Six Interpol detectives on the cases had disappeared from their homes or cars only to be seen being killed in films from this organization.

"Any idea how much they get paid for the originals of the film?"

"There is the truly odd part. The producers pay a large sum, but not nearly enough to support such an operation. I suspect these are people who enjoy killing and are simply taking the money to pay for more."

"Hm." Michael put a large manila envelope on the table and kept his hand on it. "Ten thousand for the tape plus an additional one thousand for the information so far. There's another thousand if you tell me where you got it."

"My suppliers are kept confidential to avoid...complications to my business."

"Well, the way I see it, those complications are likely to occur regardless. I recommend you find new suppliers to deal with, because when I find them things will start going downhill for you quickly. So why not make a bit of money off of something that is going to happen anyway?"

That shook Klein a bit, Michael saw. Maybe telling him wasn't the best move, but it was certainly _a_ move. "You mean to take them out?"

"This particular tape is a bit personal to me, and I'm going to find my way to the makers of it if I have to kill somebody. Or a lot of somebodys. I'd rather not, but if people aren't going to cooperate and lead me to where I want to go, then I guess I'm going to have to get serious about things." He had slipped his hand under the table's edge and poked Klein's knee with the end of his suppressor. Playing hardball wasn't his favorite way but sometimes you had to take the initiative.

Klein looked down and saw the end of the gun pointed at his gut and went pale. Maybe he was a big, bad, black-market boss, but he wasn't stupid. "Y-y-you can't shoot me in here."

"Care to wager on that? I can take everyone out in less than seven seconds and leave here no worse than when I came in. I'm giving you the option of giving me information and taking the money, or keeping quiet and staying that way." He waited for Klein's reaction to that before continuing. "Or if you prefer a more noble cause to shoot for, think of taking the money and giving me the info as investing in the continuing lives of all these other people."

The whole thing was a bluff on his part and he had no idea what he'd do if he still refused. Despite his big talk, he couldn't kill everyone in the room and live with it, but Klein didn't know that, did he?

It was a long minute before another poke with the suppressor made up his mind. "Okay okay..."He scribbled down a name and address on a notepad. "Here's the guy that delivers them to me. He's a middleman, making his living delivering goods and laundering money for numerous groups. He's my only contact in the transfer of these things. He gets them from someone that sends them to me for my approval to buy. If I don't like them, I send them back through him. I swear, I have no direct contact with the people on the other end, and I do not want any." He leaned back and pulled on the cash envelope, but Michael held firm.

"How did he become the go-between? Did you have contact with someone before he started delivering?" When the target gives a little, push some more.

"He stopped in my shop one day out of the blue and made the arrangement. It's been a solid delivery method for four years and they run a tight business. I give him a list of items I'm interested in and he brings things in. Honest, that is all I know."

Michael held on a little longer before letting go of the envelope, letting Klein know who was in charge and that he could stop sweating now. He slipped his gun back in the thigh holster and stood up, leaning over the table close to Klein.

"I don't have to spell out what penalties an error on your part would entail, do I, Herr Klein?"

"No. I think I have that very clearly."

"Good. Now I recommend you keep this arrangement and conversation amongst ourselves. After all, you wouldn't want anyone to think you can't be trusted. It might be bad for business." He smiled like the Cheshire cat. "Good day, Herr Klein." He put his hat on and tipped it courteously before taking his leave.

Michael had to ditch another CIA tail on the way back to his hotel and this one was just as good as Tanya had said.

After several tries to lose him, he finally resorted to ducking into a crowded store and starting an argument between two women over who had tried to swipe the other's purse. When it came to blows, the shoppers crowded around and he made his way out the back and by the time the tail made it to the alley, Michael was hidden safely under a semi-trailer. The frustration was obvious in the voice as the agent reported in that he'd lost him and Michael was sure that he'd have to finish his business in town quick before he used up all of his tricks.

He tossed his keys on the dresser as he walked by and tossed his coat on the bed, but a sudden chill on his neck made him spin around, drawing his gun and leveling at the person who had stepped out of the bathroom.

"Jesus, Tanya. Don't do that." He holstered the gun and started to remove the thigh-holster, glaring at her or being so reckless.

"Don't shoot, I'm unarmed." She put her hands in the air mockingly with a smile, and then sat down on the bed.

"I'll believe that when you've been stripped and cavity searched. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help, Michael. Well, I'm here to warn you first, then to help."

"Warn me?" He pulled off his shirt and started rolling it up to pack it away.

"My chief wants you brought in, since your numerous escapes from our people make him certain that you're up to something big for the Italians. The others are pulling out the stops and from how close they came today, I don't think you'll make it through tomorrow." She leaned back on the bed, stretching her tall frame out on it.

"Maybe I _should_ talk with your chief if that's the only way to get him to leave me alone."

"Bad idea. He has an affinity for rubber tubing and a needle full of SP-17 and has already said he'll use it on you. Your best bet is to finish here and get out before they catch up to you." She sat up and raised her arms in a grandioso flare. "Thus I am here to help. So... What did you get out of your informant?"

"Just an address of a middle-man. He should know where the tapes are coming from, though, so I'll be able to leave with something at least." He set his gun on the nightstand and flopped onto the other side of the bed.

"Night operation?"

"Yep. I had to talk tough with the informant, but I think I'll probably need a bit of persuasion on this next one. It's got that feeling to it." He shifted in the bed until he was comfortable. "I'm going to get some sleep until then."

Tanya stood and pulled her bag out of the bathroom where she had left it, quickly checking her own gun and setting it on the opposite nightstand. There was something odd about the way Michael was going about this and she couldn't figure out what it was. He seemed to be using a disproportionate amount of force for the work and it was concerning her. It was almost as if he didn't care what damage he caused in his efforts, and that just wasn't like him. He was always one to use minimum force to remain undetected, and then go in guns blazing when the opportunity arrived.

She watched his face as he drifted off to sleep, noting how relaxed he seemed, as if he didn't have a care in the world rather than being hunted by an overzealous CIA. He had said this was personal to him, but she had to wonder just how far he was planning to go with it. If he was playing fast and loose with the smaller fish in the sea, by the time he found the bigger ones he'd be a marked man. Being top priority on someone's hit list made things difficult to accomplish, a serious issue with the games people in their line of work played. The only purpose it served was to bring them to him, and as good as he was, he couldn't handle them all alone. So what was his game? What was his goal?

Tanya stepped from the bathroom twenty minutes later with her hair dyed red and climbed into bed with him, snuggling up like she used to. Even principle had to give way to loneliness sometimes and despite her talk the previous night, she still needed to feel him next to her. It wasn't until he had returned that she realized how lonely she had been. The loneliness had fueled her anger for so long, but now that the anger was gone, the loneliness was still there.

As she drifted towards sleep something edged into her mind. Michael was not as lonely as he wanted people to think, and that had been clear the previous night. He no longer felt anything for her because there was someone else. He had someone who he knew he could rely upon to help him, someone other than her because he had arrived on her doorstep with that aura about him. This was also the person he was fighting for, Tanya knew. But who was it? The diaries were a likely source of answers, but he had said that person was dead, and certainly he was acting as such by displaying all of the signs of a man on a mission of revenge.

Her last conscious thought was to hope she would remember to look further into this.

Chapter 11: Questions and Answers

The night was dark from the new moon and overcast sky. It was humid for a late summer night and felt like it might rain again. Neither the darkness nor rain was a hindrance to those who had learned to use it to their advantage.

After a short recon at the address, Michael and Tanya, or "Boris" and "Natasha" as they had chosen for the evening's aliases, started their operation. The man lived alone, running his business out of a small building that he lived above and it was conveniently located next to the river and doubtlessly some of his transports came via that.

The door locks gave way to Michael's picks and they made their way in, using night vision gear to pick their way through the apartment. It was a cluttered mess, but some people tended to live that way. From the type of electronics gear he had in the living room, the courier seemed to do pretty well for himself. About the only clear spot was at the computer desk where there was a stack of invoices in shorthand. Most of his work was probably on the computer so they'd have to check that out if he refused to talk. He slept with the bedroom door open and they stepped in, taking up position on both sides of the bed before flipping the light on.

The man started awake and whipped a pistol from under his pillow, a forty-caliber Glock, which was just about the easiest way to go to bed and not wake up when the gun goes off. Michael was ready and grabbed the gun before he could bring it to bear, forcing it up and twisting it out of his grip. He cleared it and tossed it across the room before speaking.

"Good morning, Mr. Aldridge. I have questions that need answers and if you answer them correctly and in full, I will let you live. Does that sound fair?" Michael was speaking German with a hint of a Russian accent for effect.

"Who are you?"

"Wrong answer." Michael put a shot into the wall next to his head, the suppressor muting it to a mere pop sound. "You get another try, but you only have two strikes left, friend."

"Pssst." Tanya leaned over and whispered not so softly, "The correct answer is 'Yes, that sounds fair'."

Aldridge looked back at Michael, or more accurately, at the business end of the gun. "Y-yes. That sounds fair."

"Good!" He was playing it up with boisterous effect, keeping the target off-guard. "Now then. Last week you delivered a certain video disk to a Mr. Klein. On this disk were Americans being slaughtered. Do you remember this disk?"

Whether it was out of habit or blatant lie, Aldridge answered too quickly. "No."

The gun that had never wavered from his head coughed again and Aldridge was missing part of his left ear. The blood splattered the wall behind him and he screamed, clutching his ear.

"Strike two, friend. The last strike is going to cost you something more important than an ear. I hear getting a knee shot hurts more than anything else. I think that is where I'll put the next one. Seems fair, yes?"

The fear in the man was entirely real now nearly forcing him to say something else, but he held onto his reason and managed to croak out "Yes, that is fair."

"Do you remember the video?"

"Yes."

"Whom were you delivering it for?"

"A client." When Michael's gun lowered towards his right knee he tried to back away, but the wall was stopping him. Leaving him no other choice he decided to answer more thoroughly. "A client in Venice. He does the copying and arranges for shipping to me. He calls from a pay phone there and tells me they're on the way. If the buyer I line up doesn't like them, I ship them back to the return address in Milan, or Florence, or Rome. It's always changing, but it's always in Italy."

"Where do the originals come from?"

"I don't know." The gun coughed and Mr. Aldridge would never dance again. Tanya winced as he screamed, so bloodcurdling it sounded and she stepped into the next room to start working on the computer, deciding that she really didn't need to see the results of next mistake he made.

"Friend, you are all out of chances. The next one goes through your liver and we'll leave you here to die in agony. Tell me where the originals come from." Somewhere in the back of his head, Michael's conscience started to speak up and warn him that he was treading the fine line between interrogation and insanity. He took a deep breath and calmed down, deciding that he had another clue to move on and really didn't need to kill this guy after all.

"Please. All I know is that they go from France to Italy. I don't know where in France, I never wanted to know. My guy in Italy says that he knows, but that the people will kill him if he tells. He said they're a scary group. That's all."

"Boris?" Tanya called from the next room. "He has a USB encryption lock on this. I need the key."

"Right." Michael turned back to Aldridge. "The key?"

"On the nightstand." He grabbed for it but knocked it onto the floor among the other junk. Michael bent over to get it and Aldridge made his move, whipping a knife from under his pillow and caught Michael on his left side, cutting a deep gash in him.

Michael tried to leap to the right out of the way, which saved him from having the knife buried deep within him, and he spun as he fell, bringing the gun up and putting two rounds into his assailant's body. Tanya heard the commotion and rushed in, her stiletto at the ready, and caught Aldridge as he was trying to stumble his way over to Michael with his knife raised. She stabbed him between two vertebrae and he fell to the floor like a sack of flour, now a quadriplegic for life, but his short, gasping breaths attested that life was not going to be long.

Tanya stepped to Michael and helped him up, looking at the wound as best she could through the bloodied clothes.

"It's deep, Michael, but not fatal if we get it patched up."

"Him first." The stab wound removed any doubt he'd had that Aldridge was going to die by his hand.

"He's not going anywhere."

Michael had to agree with that statement. "Tanya, grab that computer and anything else that looks important. I'm going to clean up."

"Alright." She stepped back into the other room with the computer key and started disconnecting the computer. Michael carefully picked up his expended casings and counted them twice, and also verified them with his magazine's remaining number to make sure he had every one. Everything checked out and he was about to leave when he looked down at Aldridge, looking like a fish out of water with his neck twitching and gasps for air. He bent down to him being careful to avoid the pooling blood and spoke in his normal English.

"I was going to let you live, but you brought this upon yourself by trying to stab me. I'll give you a little information to help tonight make sense to you." He bent down closer to whisper in his ear. "You see, one of the girls in that video is still alive, and I'm calling everyone to account for their sins in accordance with their guilt. I don't hate you. Really I couldn't have cared less about who you were, I just wanted information. That's why I was willing to let you live."

Michael stood back up and drew his gun, taking three steps back. "But what kind of life do you have now except as a vegetable? All I can do to make things better is to help with the pain. Sorry." He put a shot though Aldridge's head and that was the end of his suffering. Michael didn't feel great about it, but he had known when he started that things were going to be ugly, and that he'd have to live with them.

He picked up the last piece of brass and rummaged through the place looking for information, all the while ignoring the burning pain in his side. There were a few folders with possibly useful inventory information and plenty of pornographic magazines everywhere, but the place was largely useless from an intelligence standpoint. Tanya nodded for him to follow from the door they'd come in, a computer case in one hand and a box of files tucked under the other arm.

"Time to leave." As Michael started to step around the passenger side of the car, his knees buckled and he leaned against it, his face ashen from the blood loss and stress.

"Michael!" Tanya ran around the back of the car and supported him, looking at his wound again and seeing how much blood he had lost. "Damn it. Why do you push yourself so hard?" She opened the back door of the car and slid him in, putting a towel against the wound and his hand against it to hold it in place. "I'm getting you to a hospital."

"No. No hospital. The damn Czech doctors would only get me killed. Back to my hotel room, and hope your friends haven't found it yet."

The sun was just starting to lighten the sky when she helped him out of the car and into a service elevator for the ride to his room and their luck seemed to hold as they made it to his room with no one the wiser. She pulled his clothes off and looked carefully at the wound, seeing that it was still bleeding profusely.

"Michael, I'm going to have to stitch this up, but I don't have any anesthetic."

"In my bag... There's a bottle of... vodka. There is also a med-kit with sutures. God this hurts." He was light-headed but he needed something to help with the pain. She found the items and poured him some in a paper cup from the sink. He drank it and took another before settling back to wait for it to take effect.

"Michael, I need to know something." Tanya was holding a gauze pad to the cut, stemming some of the bleeding.

"Huh? What?"

"Who are you fighting for?"

"I told you, Italian Intelligence Section Two." He could feel the pain still, but was starting not to care about it hurting, the swimming feel in his head taking over.

"No, who are _you _fighting for?

"A girl. A girl named Janet Wells. The most wonderful girl to play the guitar and sing and help others..." He was rambling, almost deliriously and his breathing was strained. "That poor girl... and her friends. God, the blood, the blood was everywhere. And there were bits and pieces of them lying all around and I saw Janet's hair. That brown hair told me it was her and I- I couldn't look away. I wanted nothing more than to look away but I couldn't. There she was, all cut up and her friends were dead and cut up also and I couldn't look anymore so I looked away and left them alone to save myself."

Michael looked like he wanted to cry, his eyes moist and an incredible look of sadness on his face. Whatever he kept inside and locked away was hurting him and she was the only person he felt comfortable bringing it to the surface with. He was always like that and it was part of what drew them together, the emotional release they both needed could only be found with each other.

Tanya had started stitching as the alcohol took effect and finished quickly, giving him twenty close-spaced stitches that were good enough to get him home to better medical attention. Italy's was supposed to be pretty good and no doubt he had access to it. She cleaned up the wound and patched it with gauze and tape, thankful for her quality field-medic training.

"You ran away?"

"I couldn't breathe, the air was so bloody. It smelled so strong so I went to the door for air, leaving them there." He was starting to calm down now as the scene came back to him along with the memory of what he did. "I had some fresh air and called the police and then I heard something. One was alive. She was alive. I saved her life, but to do what? Never remember who or what she was and to spend her remaining life killing."

Little of the story was making any sense to Tanya. The girl he was seeking retribution for was not dead, but alive and killing people while lacking her memory? What exactly did he do for the Italians?

She turned to him to ask more but the cold, hard look in his eyes stopped her. It was a determined look, the kind you only see on the face of those who have made a decision to go all out for something they believe in.

"Michael, tell me what's wrong." Her softer voice broke through the red mist he was seeing and he looked at her, his body relaxing from the tensed state he had taken on despite the pain it created.

"I'm committed to a course of action and now I have to wonder if I can really pull it off. I'm in the best shape of my life, my skills are the best they have been, and I'm still not sure if I'm good enough. Tonight brought that home and if it weren't for your help, I'd probably be dead."

"You got careless but lived to realize it. Learn from it and move on, that's the only way we can keep going." Michael had propped himself up at the head of the bed and she joined him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah." The fatigue and the alcohol finally caught up to him and he was out like a light. Tanya laid him down and tucked him in, settling herself on the other side of the bed with the diary from his bag.

The writing was verbose, but only in the sense that there was a lot to be said. Her own attempts at a diary when she was younger consisted primarily of ramblings about things that were unimportant, but this writing was thoughtful and concise. Every day's pages in the book was filled to the edge with a few sentences of the day's happenings and the rest was thoughts about those events, what they meant to her, and what she could learn from them.

The bookmark in the front section made her flip ahead and read the important happenings on January seventeenth. The first page was the same structure as the rest, but the latter half of the second page was added in later in a different color of ink.

"_This evening I felt the irresistible need to sit with mom and dad. I don't know what it was, but I could not concentrate on anything else, as if my whole life revolved around that moment. It wasn't much, just some talk about how grown up I've become and what my plans are for college. They told me they were proud of what I've done and that they love me. It was strange the way it came out, almost like our hearts were being forced to say it, and said I love them also. They went out to mom's friend's for a get together and not too long after they left it started snowing really hard. They should be home in an hour if the roads aren't too bad. I'll finish writing here and work a bit more on that song I wrote for Carol. I think she'll be surprised when I sing it to her for her birthday next month, though it would have been great if we all could celebrate our birthdays in Europe. With Angie's so close to my own it was easy to pick a place to have our combined party. Hm. There's someone knocking on the door. Back in a moment to finish off the night..."_

Tanya could sense the foreboding that the author had at that moment, feeling a chill on her neck. Whatever that knock was, it created a five-day gap in the otherwise strict daily schedule. January twenty-fourth was the next entry in what could only be described as a tortured and broken scrawl. There were several scratched out beginning words that clashed violently with the girl's normal method. Water spots were on the pages, tears smearing the ink as she wrote.

_"I have to write. I have been so sick since that night that I can barely function. Carol and Angie have been staying with me every day and night. They've been forcing me to eat but it all comes up a little while later. I don't know what I'd do without them. Mrs. O'Malley has been helping me with the necessary tasks for taking care of mom and dad. The hardest part were the decisions that I had to make. What music, what flowers, what casket colors? What kind of question is that? I suppose it's more for my own peace of mind than theirs, but is it something you ask a girl who just lost her only family? Now I know why mom was hurting so much when her brother died. Grandma and grandpa died when I was little and dad's family was gone before I was born. Mom had nobody but dad to help and it isn't the same. Friends help a little, but you need blood-relatives to help you through something like this. _

_It's funny, just writing like this gives me strength in a way that I couldn't feel when I cried. Mrs. O'Malley has been keeping Carol by my side all the time. I guess she's afraid I'll slit my wrists or something. I have to be honest, it had occurred to me last night. I woke up from a dream thinking that I heard my mom's voice calling to me from their bedroom. Of course there was no one there, but I couldn't help but feel entirely alone in the world. I couldn't comprehend how it would be possible to go on in life, so alone. I went to the bathroom and found dad's razor and readied myself to do it. I looked in the mirror to say goodbye to myself but saw myself differently. I had pictured my self, as I've always been, beautiful and smart, the way I always saw myself in the mirror. I was going to kill that person so she could be in Heaven with mom and dad, the same little girl they loved. _

_What I saw was a wreck of a human, the skeletal remains of what used to be a bright light in the world. Her eyes were dark and lifeless, her hair a mess, and every part of her being seemed frail. I couldn't feel a soul in my self or my reflection. It reminded me of the people at the shelter when I would serve food and play my guitar. They would walk in looking like they were ready to die, lacking a soul and a will to live. I'd give them hot food and sing a song and they would feel a little better. A few came to thank me, saying that they could find strength to hope again. It sounds cliché, I know, but it's the truth. You could see it in their eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul, I think._

_ I stood there looking in the mirror asking whether mom and dad would want to see their daughter like this or as I used to be. The longer I looked, the more I realized how bad I really was. I couldn't do it. The very thought made me throw up. I threw up and cried and cried some more, screaming out for God to lift me up because I had nothing else left. Somewhere in the past five days I have left God behind and journeyed ahead alone. No one is alone with God by their side, that's what they always said in church, but I never really understood it until last night. _

_When I finished crying into the toilet, I realized that I could go on now, because I wasn't alone anymore. As I've been writing, I've realized that I MUST go on because that's the only way I'll become something. Maybe I'll become a paramedic or something so I can save lives. Anyway, I'm out of space on these pages. I won't miss anymore days, I promise."_

"My god." Tanya closed the diary and put it back with Michael's things. The girl was killed only a few months later, along with her friends; meeting an end Tanya couldn't wish on her worst enemy. No, she wasn't killed. Michael had said she was still alive and he had saved her life. 'Never remember who or what she was and spend the rest of her life killing.'

He was bearing the emotional weight of two people and it was probably going to kill him. He had to avenge the girl because she deserved her vengeance and couldn't do it herself. It was eating away at Michael, cutting to his very soul, and he might not even know exactly why. He claimed it was because he sent them to that club, but that was only what he was telling himself to keep the fire burning. The longer and hotter that fire burned, the more consumed he would be until there was no soul left. The most honest thing he'd said was that he was fighting for her, not to alleviate his own guilt. He was simply too pig-headed to consciously decide to fight for that. If he did, he'd be okay.

"Michael... Stop forcing yourself to be so alone in the world."


	5. Chapter 12 to 13

Chapter 12: Deployment

"So I guess this is it, huh?"

"Yeah."

They stood in the airport terminal waiting for his flight to depart, only minutes left before having to say goodbye again. It was a moment they both felt they missed out on four years ago, but the distance in time and space since then had changed the ways they felt for each other.

"Thank you for helping me, Tanya. I couldn't have made it without you."

"Someone has to keep you out of trouble." Tanya smiled at him, a smile that was hinting at the sadness she really felt. It was great to see him again, but there are always the 'what-ifs' whenever you re-open such an emotional wound.

"God knows it finds me easily enough. If I'm in the area again, where can I look you up? Maybe we can do lunch or something." He was feeling the same as her, sadness at what they'd had being wasted.

"You can't. I'm being transferred back to the States to teach at The Farm. With the Russians playing more games from the old days, Langley wants to beef up the Eastern Europe sections. I don't know when you'll be back there, but I doubt we'll be able to see each other again. I'd probably lose my job, and you know how important it is for our country."

"Yeah, I know. You're the best, Tanya."

The boarding call for his flight came over the public address system and Michael sighed, finally closing the door on this chapter of his life. He had to look forward now. He picked up his carry-on and turned to walk away when Tanya grabbed his hand.

"Michael wait."

"Hm?" He turned back and found a tortured and desperate look in her eyes. She had to give him something special, something that they'd both remember forever, and was struggling to find the right way to do it. Finally it came to her and she smiled warmly, knowing he'd get it and appreciate the thought.

" 'Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time'." And he did, because they both knew it would be. Both would find new strength when they parted, but for now, the moment was the only thing in their hearts.

"Good bye, Tatyana. God bless you."

" 'You better hurry. You'll miss that plane'." She said it in her best Bogart, actually doing a pretty good job of it. Maybe movie lines were cliché, but when you're lacking for your own words, they'll do just fine.

Michael put on his hat and stepped away without a look back.

The flight was comfortable and Michael rested, catching up on sleep and ignoring the occasional stab of pain from his knife-wound. He kept seeing the face of the man he killed, the man that, had he not been a source of information, would still be alive. Maybe what Michael had done was more wrong than that man's crimes. The very thought was almost enough to make Michael forget the whole damned thing, but he had started on his way and there was not enough room to turn around in this narrow alley called revenge.

He had every reason to continue on the disk in his luggage and knew that if there were going to be a reckoning, he'd have to summon up the courage to watch it. Michael wasn't sure why he had to know exactly what Jamie had gone through. Knowing the results would be enough for most people, but he had to have more. Maybe it was his logical side wanting all of the details, scraping every surface for every bit of data that could be gained from them. Information was the key and he needed everything he could get.

It had seemed like he had just gone to sleep at cruise altitude when the flight attendant nudged him awake and asked him, ever politely, to buckle up because they were landing. The wheels touched down a few minutes later and he deplaned to find Jose and Henrietta waiting for him, a grim look on his face, and guard-dog alertness on hers.

"What's up?"

"It's a good thing you came back today. We need to deploy to Venice immediately and we are the only available teams. Everyone else is scattered about tracking down those explosives. Jamie's service work is done and the doctors have cleared her for action."

"No rest for the weary, eh? I need to pick up my gear at the Diplomatic Ministry. It should be here and waiting for me by now."

"It's on the way." He led the way with Henrietta in tow. Her violin case was likely packing her P90 and it gave Michael an idea for Jamie's own carry method. She needed a rifle for the heavier work that her pistol couldn't deal with and the G3A3 or G36 would fit almost right into a guitar case.

"Ferro is loading up a van with the necessary gear. We'll drive through the night and meet up with the local branch of Section One in the morning and conduct the operation tomorrow night after a reconnaissance." Jose led the way to Michael's Jaguar that he'd driven in, his own Porsche obviously too short on seating to bring. He tossed the keys to Michael and climbed in the passenger seat, relaxed physically, but distracted by the details of the mission running through his head.

"At least that gives me time to shower." Michael put his bag in the trunk and settled into the driver's seat, starting the super-charged V8 engine.

The drive to the intelligence directorate was short and they were on their way home in no time. In the mirror, Michael could see Henrietta gazing out at the scenery, lost in her own thoughts. When they were on a mission, the cyborgs were observant and deadly. When they relaxed, they were just another little girl, with all of the little girl wonder and excitement.

"How is that photo collection coming, Henrietta?"

She look forward at him, roused from her thoughts. "Hm? Oh. It's going really well. I have almost an entire album already."

"You don't waste a lot of time, huh? How much do you spend in film each week?"

Jose laughed softly, smiling at Henrietta. "She'd bankrupt me if I didn't keep expensing it as part of the surveillance budget. Still, she is a natural photographer."

"I'll have to have you take a few of me and Jamie while we're all in Venice. I could use one for my desk." He turned onto the highway that wound past the Agency's compound, flooring it to over a hundred miles per hour, the Jag's engine hardly even working to make that speed.

Jose looked at him with that concerned look on his face again. "She's been worried, you know."

"Hm?"

"Jamie. She's been on edge the whole time they've been working on her. It probably would have been better if you had been here with her, if only for moral support."

"I had some important things to take care of in Prague."

"Michael, don't take this the wrong way, but you need to think of her feelings more. The cyborgs by design want to do what their handlers say, but that does not turn off their emotions. Each of them is similar to who they were before in their drives and neuroses, but they are also what we make them. Like any normal girls, they need an emotional content to their relationships or they..."

Jose could not quite find the word to describe it adequately, but maybe an inaccurate one could cover it. "... They die inside. You've seen the way Angelica has been the past few months. Since Marco has been paying more attention to her she has become stronger and more confident. Her time spent in the hospital has been less and they've become a bit closer. Her confidence has improved and that makes every bit of difference in how the pair works.

"While Jamie's age plays a part in how mature she thinks and acts, but she still _feels_ like the teenager she is. Whether it is the conditioning or not, she feels some attraction to you, and desires your undivided attention. You cannot be insensitive to those feelings because they are a large factor in how she acts, and while she might follow orders, she'll probably toss some defiance your way if she feels like you're ignoring her."

Michael glanced at Jose and tried to read into what he had said. He and Jamie were making progress and he thought he was being supportive enough. There were certainly times he'd let things she said go unanswered, but only because he was not sure how to answer her.

The look he had directed at Jose must have reflected some disagreement because Jose turned and watched the scenery. "Sorry, I know she's yours to do as you please. I just thought I'd offer up some friendly advice."

"Thanks. I'll take it into consideration."

They rode the remainder of the trip in silence, any friendly air having been removed for the time being. The guard waved them through the gate and the empty parking lot attested to the lack of people there. Everyone really _was_ working on this case.

"Henrietta..." Jose stopped her before she could run off to the dorm. "Pack your case and your tactical clothes tonight, along with the usual casual wear. Bring something to read, as well. It's a long drive."

"Okay." Henrietta smiled at him and ran to the dorm to start packing.

Jose looked at Michael again, warmed by Henrietta's enthusiasm. "We'll be leaving about ten tonight. Bring a mix of gear, and maybe Jamie's rifle, we might need her long-range."

"Right."

As Jose walked away Michael caught sight of Claes working in her garden, getting ready for the fall harvest. She looked so content and engaged with what she was doing, such a difference from the other cyborgs who seemed to take more pleasure in killing for their handlers than in their own hobbies. He stepped over to watch her and she looked up as his shadow fell on her workspace.

"Hello, Claes."

"Hello, Mr. Christiansen. Is there something you need?"

"No. I just wanted to see how your garden was coming along. You spend so much time with it and seem to enjoy yourself, so it's no wonder it's doing well."

"A plant grows better when the person caring for it pays enough attention. Over-watering or over-crowding can hinder its growth, but to stop watering or leaving it alone will usually result in it dying." She plucked a dead leaf off of a plant and looked around for any she might have missed, and then stood when she was satisfied her work was done. "In nature, there are always a few that survive against the odds, making their own way in life any way they can, but none of the plants here can do that."

She left Michael standing there in the afternoon sun, grasping the meaning of what she had said. People, like plants, grow best in the right environment. If over-indulged they will be stifled. If not given any care, they die inside. A few will survive by sheer determination. But Claes was saying that there weren't any cyborgs that could survive like that, without the support of their handlers.

Whatever his own faults in the way he treated her, Jamie had been able to make it on her own before the assault, her determination getting her past the horrible loss she'd incurred. Could she do that now? If he were gone tomorrow, would she be able to continue on in her remaining life? Maybe that's why she was so off-kilter whenever he left her behind: the fear of losing him engrained on a subconscious level perhaps.

Then again, he might be reading too far into it.

"Well... They sort of look bigger. I'm jealous, Jamie, you get all of the breaks."

"None of my shirts fit right anymore, though. I'll have to get a whole new wardrobe, and I certainly can't wear anything of Petra's anymore. I feel like a freak." Jamie was staring at her "modified" chest in the mirror with Maria looking on and wondering what she was going to tell Michael.

The tests had shown that she was indeed negatively buoyant in the water and that she had to work just to keep afloat. Hours in the pool trying to relearn how to swim had resulted in marginal improvement so the decision was made to add some buoyancy and balance by enlarging her bust slightly. The peculiarity of the cyborg construction lends itself to small modifications without the need for heavy surgery and this was just one of those things they hadn't originally considered but were happy to try out for knowledge sake.

So, three days later she was back in the pool and swimming like a seal almost immediately, the original life-skill programming taking over again and matching with her body's mechanics. It was a wonderful feeling to someone who had been coughing up pool-water three days earlier, but the changes were noticeable and it made her self-conscious.

"Do they affect your shooting any?"

"The feel against the stock is different, but my accuracy is still the same." She squished one with her hand and felt the way it moved, noting that it really didn't feel like it was fake. The doctors must know their stuff because each of their bodies were a work of art in their own right and you really had to see them in action or cut open to tell the difference from the real thing.

Jamie turned her head suddenly and listened carefully, just catching the sound of Michael's Jag as it pulled through the gate. Jose and Henrietta had taken it out earlier but the sound now was Michael's usual heavy foot on the throttle.

"What's wrong, Jamie?" Maria was looking towards the closed window and wondering what it was she was looking at. When she heard the engine of Michael's car as he pulled into a parking space, she understood and patted her friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry. From what I've seen, he's going to like you no matter what. It's all in your head."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier to shrug off." Jamie hugged herself, summoning up the courage to face him. What was it that Petra had told her? Her own insecurity was the only thing holding her back?

Her worried frown changed to a look of determination. She needed to get past her own selfishness and work hard for the good of the Fratello. Michael was putting in everything he could, so she should also.

"I'm going to his room."

"Huh?"

"I need to get this over with anyway, plus maybe he'll tell me something about his trip." She pulled on a tank top and covered it with a loose sweat jacket, hiding the obvious lack of bra. Maybe she could talk him into going shopping the next day, something they both seemed to enjoy the night they went to the club. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck." Maria flopped back on the bed, wishing she were as mature as Jamie.

Jamie virtually snuck through the halls and to the handler section of dorms. It was not as if the numerous cameras and security people manning them hadn't seen her, but she was really hiding from Michael, trying to get ahead of him so she could welcome him home at the door to his room. She made it there and realized he must be taking his time. It was a solid five minutes since she'd heard the car doors shut but he had not arrived.

She considered surprising him inside his room and had just touched the doorknob when she felt a sickening feeling in her stomach. Michael had forbidden her from entering when he was not there, and had even limited her time there when she was allowed in. Her hand pulled away and the feeling started to subside, the knowledge that she was no longer doing something "wrong" calming her nerves.

It was a feeling she'd had a few times before, usually when she felt angry about the way Michael used to treat her with indifference. She would start to do something that she knew would irritate him and that feeling would come on, making her forget what she had planned. Petra had said that this was part of the conditioning. Petra had also spent a lot of time throwing up right after she was mission ready, at least according to Claes, which meant that she and Sandro had trouble getting along at first.

The situation was interesting enough to warrant a test so Jamie reached out to turn the doorknob, but with no real intention to enter the room. She hesitantly put her hand on the cold brass, waiting for her stomach to respond, but it did nothing. She carefully turned the knob, slowly advancing it towards the release of the latch, anticipating the first warning pangs from inside her. The latch clicked and the door was free and nothing was wrong with her. She cracked it open an inch but there was still nothing, so she wondered if she should dare take a step inside.

A queasy feeling hit her the moment she had considered going inside, like her body was signaling there was danger in the room, and she pulled the door shut again with a rough pull, the sound echoing down the hall. The feeling subsided and she leaned against the wall, starting to wonder just how little free will she was allowed to have.

"I asked you not to go in there when I'm not around, Jamie." Michael had come up the steps just as she closed the door, almost too tired to care but figuring he should say something to dissuade her.

"Michael! I wasn't inside, I was just wondering if I should wait inside but thought better of it when I remembered what you had said."

He walked over to her and opened the door, the light he switched on revealing a nearly spotless room only a little larger than her own. It had been so long since she had been inside, not since he had given her the brand new Gibson guitar he had bought in Rome and taught her some basic chords and exercises. She held fast at the door while watching him, waiting to be bidden inside.

"I um... I wanted to be here when you got back."

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

He hadn't turned to look at her yet and the distant and cold voice he directed at her started to become irritating. She had done nothing wrong, really, so why wasn't he happy to see her?

"How was your trip?" She had clasped her hands behind her back as she often did when waiting patiently, but her chest stuck out further and she immediately moved her arms to a folded posture to cover up.

"Busy and exhausting." Michael glanced at her in the doorway where she was feeling uncomfortable and waved her in. "Come in and close the door."

"Okay." Jamie hesitantly took a step over the threshold and was relieved when she felt nothing else. She sat down on the end of the bed and watched him with curiosity, noticing some awkwardness in his movements.

" So... How did your tests go?" He removed his suit coat and hung it on the hanger to be sent out for cleaning, checking it for any traces of blood from his wound.

"Fine. They ended up doing the surgery and it definitely fixed the problem. I can swim perfectly now but none of my shirts fit."

"Shirts?" He looked at her but couldn't see what she was talking about with her sweatshirt on.

"Yeah. You didn't know what they were going to do to fix it?"

"No, they hadn't decided on anything but tests by the time I left." Michael was wondering what the hell they had done to her to make her react like this. He selected a set of casual clothes and a towel from the dresser to get ready to shower.

"They...um... Made me bigger." How else do you tell somebody you think the world of about something like this?

"What?" Maybe it was the flight, blood-loss, and fatigue, but he could not understand where she was going with it.

She sighed in frustration and unzipped the sweat jacket, holding it open to display her stretched shirt. "They made them bigger!" Her face was beet-red with embarrassment and he could now understand why she was so cryptic in her explanation. Or maybe he was just dense.

"Oh. I get it now, sorry. I'm a little tired from the trip." Attractive breasts or not, it was like looking at a younger sister, so he looked away. Jamie noticed the look on his face before he turned and felt like he was afraid to look at her.

"Are they that bad?" In teen-speak this was 'Am I that ugly', a trap he was wary of but that didn't mean he had the right answer.

"No. On the contrary, they are very, um, fitting to you. Your old ones made you plenty pleasing to look at, but these seem to draw the eyes towards you. They are appropriate enough for your frame so I don't think you should feel bad about having them. What people see of you is going to be your personality in your body, not just your body. If you go around feeling bad about how you look, they are going to think that there ISsomething wrong with you."

"Maria said the same thing, that it was all in my head. She also said she was jealous." Jamie flopped back on the bed and rubbed her face, wondering how she was supposed to just accept the situation as if she were forced to drink tea instead of coffee.

"Maria is fifteen, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, though you don't remember, I'm sure at that age you were looking at older women in magazines and wishing you had their body. Now you do." He started to unbutton his shirt, knowing full well where this conversation was going to go once she saw the massive bandage on his side. He had seen the way that cyborgs respond to an injury to their handlers and was sure that he'd have to chain her to the table to keep things under control.

She looked at him suspiciously. "How do you know I thought that?"

"Because all girls that age think that way. It's a product of decades of subservience to men who want a certain kind of woman, and the media's attention to those types of women. In some places a...err... homely woman is considered to be more desirable, because if she's got meat on her, she's not poor." He was pretty sure he had read that in a National Geographic or something.

"Oh." She spun on the bed and hung her head over the edge, looking at him upside-down. "And what type of woman do you prefer?"

"Hmph. I like a lot of different types of women. Redheads, brunettes, blondes, secretaries, athletes, homemakers, you know, the usual types."

"That's not what I asked. I asked what type you _prefer_."

Michael glanced at her, marveling at how she had seemed so like Tanya with that question.

"I prefer a woman who is true to herself. Someone who is not afraid to be what she wants, and is unapologetic about who she is." He saw that had got her thinking so he pulled off his shirt and turned so his bandage was no longer hidden.

"What the hell is that?" Interestingly enough she had slipped from English into Italian, presumably because she actually knew how to swear in Italian. In a flash she had flipped backward off the bed onto her feet and stepped over to him with a glare in her eyes. "You promised me you were going to be safe!"

"Well, I was until someone tried to stick a knife in me." The bandage needed to be changed but he desperately needed a shower more than anything.

"Look. I'm going to take a shower so I can get ready for the trip tonight. You should go back to your room and pack what you need. You'll need your tactical wear and a thigh-holster. It might be colder in Venice, so bring a medium jacket as well. Oh, and your rifle. Jose said to bring everything we might need so we'll do that. Get a backpack with some spare ammunition and accessories. Forty rounds for the rifle should be plenty, and two extra mags and a box of ammo for your Walther. We'll pack full-size guns on an assault but we'll still need our carry pieces. Hunt down a shooter's mat if you can, you might have to be prone for a long spell and doing that on hard surfaces can be a pain. The armory should have a few." He tried to think of anything else they might need.

"I want to know how you got that wound and how bad it is." Even as she said it she started to feel sick, likely because of her tone towards him. Still, she managed to retain the defiant look in her eyes, feeling it was her right to know what had happened.

"It's nothing to worry about, really. I was doing some investigating and the guy slashed me. He's dead now and the patch-job appears to be holding well enough. Now, go get packed." Michael stepped into the bathroom and locked the door, wondering how she was able to hold that look for so long without getting sick.

Jamie stared at the bathroom door for several minutes, trying to understand Michael and his actions, but coming up shy of an answer every way she went about it. He was an enigma to her, a man who knew everything but revealed little. An emotional well that was perpetually dry to her. The one person she honestly felt she could die for, yet he remained at arm's length, even pushing her away at times. Why was he like that? What had she done to deserve it?

An impulse made her start looking around the room for indications and little clues to what he was doing and why. His suit jacket was hanging there and she searched the pockets, finding only lint and his plane-ticket stub. An odor caught her attention and she smelled the collar, picking up a perfume she wasn't familiar with. It certainly wasn't from any of the women in the Agency, so that left someone in Prague. A single long, red hair was on the shoulder and she picked it off, looking carefully and seeing a blonde root. Apparently his 'friend' in Prague was a woman with blonde hair.

She turned next to his carry-on and immediately found the diary he'd had with him, flipping it open to the first page.

"Janet Wells... Who is that?" She felt like she should remember the name but as hard as she tried, she could not bring it to the surface. Her mind was like the deepest parts of the ocean, full of exciting, wonderful, and sometimes even dangerous things to see, if only they would come closer to the surface.

She flipped through the pages finding a woman's writing in English, in varying shades of blue or black ink. The end of the book was in May, and she read the entry quickly, seeing only a mention of a trip to Europe and needing another book. There was another of the red/blonde hairs trapped amidst the pages and it all suddenly became too much for her.

There was a woman in his life, a woman he'd been spending time with in Prague, and who entrusted him with her diary for some reason. It was a woman he thought so much of that he went to Prague to see her while leaving her at the Agency to deal with the lab technicians. It was the answer to her question of why he was pushing her away: There was simply no room for her.

But what should she do? He was still her handler, and she had to follow his orders. Her own nature forced her to care about him, or did it? How much of what she felt could be the conditioning they put in place? What would happen if she chose not to love him but merely to work with him? Could she choose not to love him?

Somehow, she had to cry. The need was there again, but the feeling and tears were not. She couldn't cry except in her sleep, just like the rest of the cyborgs and the more she needed to, the more it hurt to not be able to.

She put the book back in the bag and left the room, sobbing but lacking the tears she wanted so desperately to wipe away. The girls she passed in the dorm hall stared but she didn't care, they were not important to her. Her world was in shambles and it was _her_ world, not theirs. Let them find their own world to have fall around them.

Maria was still in her room when Jamie walked in and slammed the door shut, her face a mask of loneliness and pain.

"What? What's wrong?"

"He- He was seeing a woman in Prague. Her perfume and hair was all over his clothes. He had her diary with him." She wiped at her eyes again wishing for some release but only feeling empty. Her body slid down the door into a crushed and defeated heap, finally realizing what was wrong:

It was herself.

"Damn it, why can't I be good enough for him?"

"Have you seen Jamie?"

Michael put his assembled gear in the back of the nondescript van they were using for the trip and glanced at the door of the cyborg dorm expecting to see her walking their way. Ferro latched a crate of surveillance gear shut and stacked Michael's own gear on top.

"No. She should have been here by now, and we're running late as it is." She looked at her watch to emphasize her observation.

"Henrietta? Did you see Jamie in the hall getting ready?"

"No, but we usually don't go upstairs. That's the older girls' hall." Henrietta's face showed some of the jealousy that the first-gen girls felt towards their physically older colleagues.

"But you have the lower hall." Jose said as he added Henrietta's and his own gear to Ferro's stack and smiled at her.

"But the showers are there, so they are always going in and out. I think they would claim it as theirs if they could." Her face looked so disappointed and pitiful so Michael patted her on the head with a laugh.

"Don't worry, missy. We'll make sure they know the lower hall is yours." Wasn't that something? Turf rivalry between cyborgs.

Ferro looked at the dorm again and saw Jamie step out of the darkness of the archway with her pack slung over her right shoulder and her rifle case in her left hand. "There she is."

"Good." Michael waved for her to hurry up, speaking in English. "Lets go, Jamie, we're running late." When he looked back down he could see the confused look on Henrietta's face. "What's wrong?"

"Why do you speak English to her but no one else? Is it because she is also an American?"

"Yeah. Between the two of us we speak English because it's what we both understand the easiest. It also serves as a kind of bond between us. Kindred spirits in a strange land, or something like that."

Jamie had heard the last part but chose to ignore it, adding her gear to the pile and climbing into the van. Michael couldn't see her eyes because of the ball-cap she had pulled low, but her lack of comment and unnatural movement caught his attention. He leaned in the side door and looked at her in the back bench-seat.

"Got everything you need?"

"Yes, sir."

Even Ferro blinked at the way the response had been said, glancing at Michael with a disapproving look. Jamie was upset about something and it was going to be a long drive in a crowded vehicle. Michael climbed in the back with her to talk about it.

"Is there a problem, Jamie?"

"No, sir." This one was more guarded in its tone. She didn't want to discuss it.

Clearly there was something wrong with her, but it would have to keep until they got to Venice.

"Lets go, Ferro. The bad guys are waiting."

Ferro was driving and Jose took the passenger seat, leaving Henrietta on her own on the middle bench, which was fine by her. Jamie wrapped herself up a bit tighter in her coat and leaned against the left side, deciding to get some sleep during the ride. It sounded like a good idea to Michael who gave Jamie her space and settled onto the right side in much the same way.

Chapter 13: Enemies of the State

Michael started awake when they transitioned onto the Ponte della Libertá, the automobile and rail bridge running from the mainland to the heart of Venezia. The inside of the van was hot and Michael felt like he had sweat gallons of water into his shirt and jacket. He unbuckled his seatbelt and took off his jacket; glad he had brought extra clothes. A glance at Jamie showed that she had been awake some time, her jacket off and looking comfortable enough though still with a frown on her face. Maybe the cyborgs did not feel heat and cold as much.

Henrietta was curled up asleep on the middle bench using her photo album and coat as a pillow, cute as any girl her age would be. Jose looked back at him, diverting his own attention from his laptop.

"Good morning."

"What time is it?" Michael rubbed his face, feeling the night's stubble like sandpaper on it.

"Four-thirty. We stopped for fuel and something to eat about two hours ago. You looked like you needed the rest so we decided not to wake you."

"Thanks..." The aches in his body told the tale of sitting in an uncomfortable position for a long period of time. "How soon can I get out and stretch?"

"It should be about another ten minutes. We're meeting our Section One contact that will tell us where to go and set up."

Jose's phone buzzed and he picked it up before the noise could wake Henrietta. "Yes?" There was a long pause while the other person spoke, garbled and tinny sounds from the receiver. "Alright, we'll let you know. Ciao."

Jose closed his laptop and looked at Ferro. "That was Jean. He said he will be back in Rome by noon and that he can fly up if we need the extra help."

"That's good to know." Michael thought he heard doubts in her voice that were directed at he and Jamie.

Regardless of their first impromptu mission being a success, Jamie was still untested and had to earn the trust of her associates. He had to earn the trust of the handlers in how he controlled her, and this trip was already starting off on a bad foot. Whatever had set her into a bad mood had happened after he went into the shower. She had been almost normal when he'd left her, so what had changed?

Ferro pulled into a parking spot at the Santa Lucia Station, right next to a compact car with two people in it. Jose glanced at the driver and smiled at the familiar face. He motioned Michael to climb out and then did so himself, waiting for the other driver to get out first before opening his door.

"Mr. Fermi, I was not informed you were our contact."

Pietro Fermi gave Jose a brotherly smile as they shook hands, clearly a friendly bond between them.

"We're keeping things really close to the chest on this case. We suspect we might have a leak in our Venice station, so what they know is limited to the idea that we are investigating a fraud case that is linked to the Cosa Nostra. The director sent Elenora and I to deal with this and to keep it under wraps."

He turned to Michael as he climbed out of the van and stretched, followed by Jamie who put her coat back on, feeling a chill in the air outside after being in the warm van all night.

"Hello, I'm Pietro Fermi of Section One. This is Elenora Gabrielli, my partner." Michael saw his eyes come to rest on Jamie who had taken off her ball cap and was looking around the half-full parking lot for danger with her practiced eyes.

"Michael Christiansen, a pleasure to meet you both. You worked with Jose before?"

"Yes, during the Else de Sica investigation." Fermi was watching the way that Jamie was looking around, remembering that Rico had been the same way, like a hawk overlooking a field. "Is she a cyborg also?"

"Of course." Michael saw that Jamie had looked over when she was referred to so he waved her over. "Jamie, this is Signor Fermi and Signora Gabrielli from Section One. This is Jamie, one of the second-generation cyborgs.

Elenora could see the danger in the girl's eyes, the same way she had seen it in Henrietta's when she caught the thief that nabbed her purse the year before. It was not directed at anything yet, but God help the person that eventually was.

"She's so mature looking." Jamie was a head taller than Elenora and built with more of a figure. Elenora could not help but feel a bit outmatched in the looks department with her own plain and simple frame.

"Thank you, Signora Gabrielli. It's a pleasure to meet you." Jamie nodded respectfully and wondered if she meant what she'd said.

"Jamie is eighteen, the oldest of all of the cyborgs and she's scored the highest on her intelligence tests. She also has the most attitude of all of them." Michael gave her a smile and a look that showed that even if she was not happy with him, he was still proud of her.

"I'm only the sum of my teacher's efforts."

Even Ferro chuckled at that, bringing the first smile to Jamie's face since the day before.

"See what I mean?"

Fermi pulled out a map and spread it out on the top of his car then motioned Ferro over.

"We have a safe-house at the end of this road on the south side. It's as far as you can get with a car around here. Here's the address..." He handed her a slip of paper and a key. "You can unpack there and finish getting some rest. We'll recon the target building this afternoon when the foot and canal traffic is the heaviest. Elenora and I have a place closer to the objective that we can stage out of tonight but bringing people in there now would tip our hand."

"That sounds fine, Fermi. We appreciate the work you're putting in."

"I just want the leak found. Things are hard enough without the bad guys knowing what you're doing." He and Elenora climbed back in their compact and waved as they pulled away.

"At least we know we can trust them."

Jose's comment made Michael look over, wondering just how corrupt he and Ferro thought the local Section One was.

"How ugly is this going to get?"

"If by "ugly" you mean out into the public..." There was a pause while he considered the possibilities. "Ferro, how bad could this get?"

"The assassination of one of our own colonels of the army? Given that Venice has limited access points and is always crowded with tourists, I'd say keeping any raid a secret is likely impossible. Our best chance is to spin it in some direction that seems plausible. Maybe a raid into a hostage situation gone badly, the general is killed in the fighting... We make the bad guys unable to talk and offer up a few demotions of fictional soldiers, and no one's the wiser. I'll talk it over with Fermi later today. Right now I need sleep."

The drive took them to the far south part of the main island of Venice, the very limit of where cars were permitted. The apartment was easy to find and was incredibly well chosen, a view of the street and sidewalk, and angle they could see the canal from. Two bedrooms, a bath, and a decent sized living room done in tasteful colors and comfortably furnished. There was also a mil-spec transport case with extra weapons and ammunition of several different types. Signor Fermi certainly knew his business.

Michael looked through the rooms and figured the accommodations were good enough for a day or so. Ferro started to curl up on the couch after putting her gear down, apparently comfortable or tired enough to try sleeping there. Michael couldn't help but feel bad for her as she always seemed to be putting the others first and making herself a lower priority individual.

"Ferro, you take that bedroom and Jose can take the other for Henrietta and himself. I'm not especially tired after the trip, so I don't really need it."

Her human side apparently came out to play when she was dead-tired because she actually smiled at him. "That's kind of you. Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Go on and get some rest in a real bed." A glance at Jamie showed that she wasn't tired either. "I think we're probably going to stay up since we both managed to sleep in the car."

"Thank you, Michael. I think I'll take the offer." She stood and half-stumbled into the bedroom and closed the door, wondering if she were going to have to re-evaluate her opinion of him.

Jose came in the door with his bags, a groggy Henrietta in tow and still rubbing her eyes.

"Take the far room, I gave Ferro the first one."

"Alright. Come Henrietta." They went in and closed their door also, leaving Michael and Jamie to themselves.

"Are you tired, Jamie?

"No." She was looking out the window at the lights from the few canal boats that were out at this time of morning. Sunrise would be in a little more than an hour but the window was facing the wrong direction to see it, something she just felt like doing.

"Hmm." He pulled his bag over and found his cleaning kit inside of it, then started taking apart his gun, figuring now was a good time to clean it since he had not had a chance since firing it a few nights before in Prague. "Are your guns clean?"

"Of course." Her answers were short and to the point, a sure sign that she was upset with him over something. She was normally so talkative; at least she had been since they started to relax around each other.

Michael removed the frame tool from the grip of the Smith and then locked the slide open, using the tool to flip the sear disconnect down. He then rotated the take-down lever down and held it with his thumb while pulling the slide back from it's locked position, freeing it by sliding it off of the frame, leaving him with the slide in one hand and the frame in the other. The recoil spring and guide-rod came out and the barrel dropped free, completing the basic deconstruction of the gun. It had taken less than a minute and he did it deftly as he thought about how to get Jamie to open up with her problem.

"Will you talk to me about it?"

She looked over, wondering why he'd be asking about how she cleaned her guns. "My guns?"

"No, why you're angry at me." He brushed some cleaner/lubricant/protection through the bore, one stroke for every shot he had fired through it since the last cleaning.

"If you don't know, I'm not going to help you." Her stomach started to feel unsettled and she unconsciously moved her hand to it, wishing she could express herself without feeling sick every time.

"Very lady-like. How about acting your age and talking about your concerns rather than assume that I'm asking for my own amusement."

"You don't understand at all." She folded her arms and forced herself to stare out the window at the quiet street and canal. Michael could read her face fairly well and she didn't want to give him any advantage.

"Is that the problem or just a smart-ass remark to avoid telling me?" A few patches through the bore and he was convinced it was clean again, so he switched to wiping down the frame and inside of the slide. He was wondering if she was going to tell him or simply be content to argue with him. He guessed she was shooting for the latter.

"You figure it out." The ill feeling intensified quite a bit at that one and she concentrated on calming her stomach.

"Fine. You weren't like this last night when I went into the shower so whatever is angering you happened after that. Since I didn't talk to you until later when you already had the attitude, it's nothing I've said but more of what you have been thinking. So, tell me what you've been thinking."

"No." It was only a matter of time now before she couldn't hold it in any longer. It felt like her insides were in turmoil, the butterflies of nervousness increased fifty-fold, every act of defiance pushing her closer to the edge. She started to make her way across the room towards the bathroom, part of her preparing for the inevitable.

Michel was tiring of the game. They had a job to do and they needed to be working in harmony to do it. They had told him that she could not decline a direct order of any kind without a bit of suffering, and from the shade of green she had turned, he could tell she was sick just from the level of defiance she had shown so far.

"Jamie, please. Tell me what's going on. Remember what I said in the car last week? To be an effective team we need to be close. We cannot have anything between us when we are trying to protect each other or we might make stupid mistakes. We have an important mission right now and I need to know what this cloud is between us so we can resolve it, for both our sakes." He softened his words, honestly expressing that he hated to see her like she was, but she didn't react, apparently stuck in her own mind to whatever she was fuming over. "I don't want to order you to tell me, but I will."

Stepping over that boundary was as bad as using truth serum on someone you love. It was a violation of her privacy and she knew it wasn't something he'd like to do, but did she really want to test him on whether he'd use it? He hoped not.

"The sake of the fratello is the only reason you're interested? Thanks for the concern, Michael." Her tone apparently crossed his line in the sand. He stood and stepped over to her, keeping a slight distance between them, but dropping his voice low and keeping a stern tone.

"Jamie, we can't go into the field like this. I am ordering you to tell me why you're acting so defiant."

Her head snapped up to look him in the eyes and she started to speak almost automatically, but she summoned her will, remembering how hurt she had felt the night before and deciding that she was not going to give him the pleasure of controlling her feelings either for or against him. They belonged to her and no one else.

"I won't." It had taken her last ounce of courage but she did it, getting a stunned look from him in return. It almost made the next few minutes of hell worth enduring.

She ran to the bathroom and started heaving violently into the toilet, entirely out of control of her own body. It wouldn't stop no matter how hard she tried to calm down and the best she could manage was a few breaths in between heaves before the next wave would come. Michael was there next to her with his hands on her shoulders, a comforting feeling in the otherwise dismal experience. After seven or eight goes, long into the dry-heave stage, she started to calm down, the pain of her overworked insides an absolute agony. She took a sip of the water he offered and washed the bile from her mouth, wiping it with the back of her hand.

"Jamie, please. It's not worth this. Just tell me what's going on."

She looked at him, hating him for actually crossing that line and forcing the agony on her. "You're a bastard, Michael."

The blackness that consumed her was a relief at first, but then she was alone in her own mind for what seemed like an eternity. She could feel nothing, hear nothing, and sense nothing. It was just a huge blackness that she existed in and there was nothing else. She tried to call out but her voice made no sound, and slowly her mind started to grasp that she was utterly alone in this place, a mere existence with no physical form.

She felt herself start to panic, but could not feel her lungs gasping for air that did not exist. Her senses reached out for something, anything, to grasp on to, anything that she could anchor herself to for a frame of reference in this place. The lack of anything made her mind scream out in the blackness but she had no mouth to utter such a sound. It seemed like she had been there forever, and her hands reached out into the blackness for anything, but she had no hands. She was trapped there in her own mind unable to do anything but suffer this loneliness that she somehow could still feel. It was the only thing.

A part of her started crying, screaming and crying and apologizing for being so foolish and begging for anything but to remain in this place. Anything was better than the nothing she felt and she was promising to do what Michael said. She had to get out of wherever she was and if she had to give more of her own freedom to do it, she would.

Suddenly the blackness was gone and she could see and feel again. She felt the tears rolling down her face and heard her own sobs and was thankful for both. Michael was holding her from behind, his arms wrapped around her and his head against hers, quietly trying to calm her body which was jerking with the sobs, making her body ache more than before.

"I'm-I'm sorry Michael. I'm so sorry. Sorry. Please, I 'm so sorry..."

Her whimpers were pathetic and he felt like shit for putting her in the position to suffer this way. He had never seen such an example of the conditioning but he had no doubt that she had just experienced a full-force dose of it. It was frightening from his point of view.

At first she seemed to simply black out, but then her body started to convulse in what seemed like an epileptic fit, lasting only a few minutes but long enough for him to panic and pull her tight to him in an attempt to calm her, if ineffectively. Finally she had relaxed and started crying and whimpering but apparently coming out of it into an exhausted and weakened mental state.

"Jesus, Jamie. Please... Never scare me like that again." He rocked her and held her tight, feeling her slowly calming down and her breathing settle.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I'm sorry I was so angry with you. I'll never disobey you again." Jamie's memory of when she blacked out was gone and she couldn't remember what had upset her about it, but she could remember what she had done to get there and how she felt now, and she certainly didn't ever want to do that again. She had to talk with Michael because she was deathly afraid to feel like this again.

She was lucid enough to realize she had found the edge of the Agency's tolerance for her individuality. She could feel all she wanted to, but hatred of the Agency or the handlers was not allowed in any way. While Michael might tolerate her backtalk to an extent, she was not allowed to hate him, not by his choice but by the Agency's. Michael knew this and tried to warn her and help her for her own sake because he knew the Agency did not allow what she had done; the lashing out of a cyborg towards her handler. When Michael had ordered her to talk he had given her the final choice to choose either his way or the Agency's way. Either way she had to learn her lesson and he offered her the least painful, that of her own pride. The Agency way was much worse, she felt.

Her reflection made her feel a little better in that she knew Michael still cared for her. She had blocked all of his attempts to hear her out and had gone so far to push him away, the same thing she was angry with him for. Maybe he did love another woman, but he still cared about her more than he cared for the Agency.

She slid off of his lap and turned around, leaning against he door he had closed to keep the others in the dark since the last thing either of them needed was for Ferro to tell the director about her outburst. She still felt sick but it was fading, her head soaked with sweat from the physical strain.

"Are you okay?" He was holding her hand in both of his, as if to impart his strength to her. She wiped her forehead and covered her eyes with her free hand, feeling like she could sleep for days.

"Yes. I'll manage. I'm sorry."

"I know." He handed her the glass of water and she drank it, it's coolness helping her recover. "Do you feel like talking in here or on the couch?"

"Couch." The bathroom smelled something awful.

Michael got to his feet and helped her up, supporting her weakened and aching body to the living room couch. A cool rag went over her eyes and she rested while he finished cleaning and reloading his gun.

"Michael?" The sun was just starting to lighten the sky when she finally felt like talking. Michael was sitting on the floor and leaning against the couch, waiting patiently for her.

"Yeah?"

"Who is Janet Wells?"

The question stunned him with fear. The only places she could have gotten that name was from the diaries or from Jean, and Jean hadn't been at the compound in the time she became angry with him.

"You were digging in my bag?"

"Yes. I was wondering what you were doing when you were injured and thought I could find something that would tell me. I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to snoop through your things."

He let that go. What was important was damage control. If she saw the writing, saw the name, and read the content and still didn't remember, then maybe her memory was wiped pretty well. Or maybe she hadn't read enough to bring it all back. He felt worse about lying to her again about it, but he could not afford further risk of her memory coming back, especially now. One day he would lay it all out for her and let her judge him, but not now and not anytime soon.

"Janet was someone I knew a while back. I was given her diaries to learn more about her."

"You met with her in Prague?"

"What?" He was thoroughly confused now. How did she tie them both together despite their complete disassociation?

"I know you met with a woman in Prague. Her hair and perfume was on your coat. Her hair was also in the diary."

It came together for him then. While he had been laid up from the vodka, Tanya must have done a little snooping of her own and left her mark in the diary.

"So you thought I was..." It was just too... Sad... to really be upset over. She must have thought he left her during her service period for the express purpose of seeing a woman for a "liaison." With the affection that she feels for him he could see how it looked and why she was angry.

"Jamie, Janet Wells is dead. Her family gave me the diaries to learn and remember her by. The woman I met in Prague was an old friend of mine whom I have not seen in four years. Her name is Tanya and she's CIA."

Jamie pulled the washcloth from her head and leaned up to look at him. "Just an 'old friend'?"

"She and I were a thing four years ago but it fell apart when I got shot and was transferred out."

"How close were you?"

He felt embarrassed to be discussing his love life with Jamie, but figured it was best to get things cleared up in full. "We were romantic, even lovers. When I returned to Prague she kissed me and then slapped me, releasing the years of built up anger. She helped me with my work in Prague and kept the CIA people off of my back so I could work without their foolish interference. She even stitched up my knife wound."

"That's it?"

"And in the airport before I left she kissed me again, because it's likely the last time we'd ever see each other. She could be sentimental at times and we both felt that parting on a good note was important. Other than the two kisses and some needlepoint, we weren't really in any close range of each other. Is that what had you so worked up?"

"I feel so stupid." She flopped back on the couch and covered her face up with the washcloth again out of embarrassment.

"Jamie, listen. Tanya and I were like... Ships passing in the night. Now she's just a friend who I'll never see again. The work in Prague was important enough and time-sensitive enough that I had to go while you were getting your work done, and if it weren't, I would not have left you."

"Shut up. I don't need to feel any worse than I already do. Just promise me that you will take me with you next time."

"I had already decided to. I'm a bit short on friends now since she was my only one." She was smiling again, and that was improvement. "You were really that jealous as to put yourself through all that?"

"I was not jealous. I was angry and hurt that you wouldn't tell me about it. I felt like you were looking for someone better than me and found her. I felt so alone." Now that she had started talking she couldn't stop, the agony of her loneliness fading.

"Well, you're not. Even when I'm not around you have Petra and the other girls who you're friends with. Sometimes you just have to have someone to smile at you, someone who can appreciate you for simply being you."

It was the feeling he'd had when he'd met Janet Wells and her friends in the cafe. They were his own people and they appreciated that he was theirs. Was the human condition so simple as that: The knowledge that somewhere out there is someone who can appreciate you simply because you're like them?

"It's not the same as when I'm with you. They're great friends, but I'm still a bit of an outcast to them. Most of them see me as an adult, similar but apart from them."

"Well, what's going to change their minds on that?" He already knew the answer but wanted to see if she could grasp it.

"Huh?" Jamie sat up and rolled onto her side to watch him, knowing that his thoughts regarding her were often readily available on his face. She thought about the question some before answering, having never really thought about it before. "Well, they seem to like me when I play my guitar, but that's only temporary."

"I'll make it easy, Jamie. You're an adult regardless of how young you feel. You're eighteen and from what they could find out about you from before, you were extremely independent anyway. So you have to make a choice: Do you want to be a girl, or do you want to be a woman? As a girl you're limited to how you feel people perceive you and you do as you're told. As a woman you can take charge and make them perceive you as mature, thoughtful, and in control of your own destiny. The younger girls can look up to you then, hoping to be something like you, rather than feeling you're not like them."

The idea was new to her and involved a different way of thinking. She wanted to be treated less as a kid and more like the woman she felt herself to be, so why didn't she act like it?

"How-How do I act mature?"

"You do it without even thinking, Jamie, but your emotions get in the way. You have to learn to control them more than they control you. If I say I'm going out of the country without you for a few days, what do you feel?"

"I feel...Lonely. Like I've been left behind."

"And you feel like I've done something to slight you, so you get all huffy about it and things go downhill from there."

"What should I feel?"

"It's okay to feel lonely, but you need to disassociate that from what you _think it means_. Being lonely doesn't imply that I've done something to you. So what you need to think is along the lines of 'Michael's off on another trip, gee, I'm lonely, I'll be happy when he returns.' Then you find a friend and hang out or something to take your mind off of it or talk about it. Maturity is how you deal with your emotions, not about ignoring them." Michael hoped that made sense to her because it really did not make any sense to him in the way he said it.

"I see..." The look on Jamie's face was one of understanding and trying to figure out how to apply it to her own situation.

"Just watch some of the women you're around day to day. Priscilla and Olga are good examples. Ferro...err, forget Ferro, she's more machine than you are."

"That's not very nice to say. She means well."

"It's true. In the time I've known her I've only seen her display something other than impassiveness once, and she was faking that."

"You're mean." She mocked disapproval with him, actually feeling that it was nice to be able to talk again.

"Yeah, well, you're just a young whipper-snapper, so what do you know." He tossed a pillow at her and she let it hit her in the face, then she made a face as it slid off of her head getting a laugh from him.

They watched each other's faces for a moment and just let the world revolve around them, each finding what they were looking for in it.

"Are we good, Jamie?"

"Yeah, we're good."

"Alright. The sun's up, so why don't we get ready and head out to do some shopping. You needed shirts, right?"

"I think I'd like a suit, also. Something like what Ferro wears. I want to be able to look mature when we're out asking questions."

"Hmm. Then maybe I should go with the Don Johnson look." He could tell she didn't understand that remark. "Don Johnson played in a show called 'Miami Vice'. His character wore a t-shirt under an Armani jacket and loafers. Maybe it's a little before your time."

"A little? You would be so retro nowadays." Jamie smiled and went to her bag, digging in it for her gun and holster, checking that it was loaded and chambered, then slipped the holster into her waistband in a cross-draw configuration.

"Trust me, kid, getting old sucks. You're lucky in that you no longer have to worry about it. I knew I was getting old when everyone I knew in school had kids in middle school." He stood and put his gun in his shoulder holster, making sure it was snug.

"I thought we were through treating me like a kid." Her jacket covered everything perfectly and she was ready.

"I can't even joke about it?" The apartment key went onto his ring and he motioned her to go first out the door, holding it for her.

"Not today. Today I'm going to be mature."

The rest of the team looked up from their breakfasts when Michael returned with a collection of shopping bags and dropped them in the middle of the living room.

"Been busy, Michael?" Ferro took another sip of coffee so she could enjoy the show.

"I think she hit every clothing shop in Venice. Seriously, how could you possibly need that many shops in one city?" He had left the door open for Jamie, but was waiting for the moment to introduce her in her new look.

"So what did she pick out?"

"What didn't she? Again, we hit every shop in Venice. Did you think I was joking?" He pushed the bags aside and made way for her.

"And?" Gabrielli was interested as well, and Henrietta was in the bedroom doorway, having dropped what she was doing to see.

"I give you the new Jamie." Michael swept his arms broad and theatrically and stepped to the side.

The woman that stepped into the room bore little resemblance to the girl they had all seen the previous night. Gone were the ball cap and blue jeans, replaced by a tailored business suit of black pants and a white collared blouse. The black, single-button suit coat was stylish and fit well while not being restrictive. Possibly the most startling change was in the hair, which was highlighted almost to be blonde. The sunglasses finished it all off, being a newer design but providing the requisite intimidation factor that people in their line of work relied upon. Jamie's whole essence was changed from a young, attractive girl just starting college to a successful businesswoman in her mid to late twenties.

The silence from the table was impressive in itself and Michael wished he'd have picked up Henrietta's camera to catch their faces.

"Well, what do you think?" Jamie turned in place then pulled back the coat's left side to reveal the grip of her gun that had been unnoticeable before.

Ferro spoke first, having managed to reign in her shock. "Very nice. Should I ask how much that set you back, Michael?"

"Please, don't."

"Apart from the hair," Jose observed to the others, "She could pass almost as a twin to Petra."

Jamie smiled at that. Being put in Petrushka's league was no insult. "Except I'm taller and smarter, not to mention much better with a gun." She took a seat at the table with the others and removed her sunglasses, her blue eyes shining brightly with her new confidence.

Fermi and Gabrielli were still off-balance with the new cyborg, it seemed. They were watching her like one would a leader of a newly discovered country, waiting to see what customs and rules stemmed from such a place. Elenora finally got past it and went back to drinking her coffee, but Fermi was still glancing up at intervals.

"What's wrong, Pietro? Is she not what you expected?"

"I had no idea what to expect with the first ones," he admitted sheepishly. "Jamie seems so...different... from the little girls like Henrietta."

Michael and Jose both nodded in agreement at that. "How would you describe the difference, Jose?"

"Err... Less linear, perhaps? Their personalities are so different because they really do think differently. In that sense, they are no different than normal girls. What really sets the second-gens apart is their broader thinking and ability to adapt. They have a better structured mind than the young ones, so naturally their abilities will evolve around utilizing that."

"Really?" Fermi looked as intrigued as he felt. The time he tested Rico came back to him and he was impressed with the way she reacted to his mock-attack, if a bit frightened. What would this one do?

She was watching Michael with a blank look while waiting for his orders, so Fermi took the chance that offered. He flipped a pack of matches towards Michael at about chest level, then Jamie's eyes caught it and she reacted, snatching it out of the air, barely missing Michael's chin in the motion. She gave him a glaring look but had none of the force that Rico had shown in protecting Jean, and there certainly was not a gun in her hand as a response like Rico.

"That's interesting." Fermi caught the matches that Jamie tossed back, watching her settle back into her chair.

Jose was not as impressed as concerned with Fermi's safety. "Pietro, it's not wise to test the cyborgs like that. Agency or not, we're not entirely sure how the new ones are likely to respond to such things."

"I see. I just wondered whether she would respond differently than Rico had before and she certainly did."

"How was it different?" Michael looked at Jamie who had a look on her face that said she was not happy with the impromptu study of her.

"Last year when I first met Jean and Rico, I tossed a cigarette at him, wondering what her response would be. She snatched it from the air and drew her gun on me, and then Jean called her off. Jamie responded much the same way, except she did not draw. I have to wonder why?"

Michael nodded and turned to Jamie, deciding to let her explain her thinking. "Go ahead and tell him."

"Well, the actual protection is instinctual, as you know. The reason I didn't draw my weapon was because you did not represent a viable threat. Your gun is in your shoulder holster and you tossed the matches with your gun hand. The time involved in you drawing down on Michael would have allowed me to block your draw and then remove your arm."

"You mean remove his gun." Gabrielli thought maybe she slipped in the translation. The look she received in return chilled her to the bone.

"No."

"Jamie." Michael had seen Jamie embellish the truth a bit at times to appear more fierce than she was, something none of the other cyborgs seemed to do. Was it his training that caused it, or one of those things that just pop up in their character?

"Fermi, I'm sorry. She probably wouldn't hurt anyone in the Agency without a direct order to do so, and as strong as she is, the worst she could do in one motion is dislocate your shoulder, something whose pain she's well acquainted with."

"No, Michael, I'm sorry. Sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me. I'm fascinated by the cyborgs, likely as much as you handlers are. What can they do, what will they do, why do they do it?"

"The why is their own concern, but the what and will are up to us to control." Michael could see Jamie's discomfort with the discussion, forcing him to decide to push her out of the briefing.

The cyborgs were almost never allowed to participate in the mission briefings, their individual assignments being handed out by their handlers when the time came. Up until now, none of them seemed to be interested or able to add input into the discussions, but he was hoping Jamie could change that view of them. When she was thinking, it could be quite insightful, both from a tactical and analytical standpoint. There had been times on the range or in the shoot-house where she approached the situation from a new perspective on her own, and whether it had been right or wrong, it was the thinking that had impressed him. It would hurt her a bit, but maybe now was not the time to change things.

"Jamie, why don't you and Henrietta take a walk around the neighborhood. Get some ice cream or magazines or something while we go over the mission."

"But, I thought you..."

He cut her off before she could react too much to it. "Maybe now's not the time to change things up, okay?" A stern look made her quiet down and accept the situation, even if she did not like it. She had been looking forward to participating and now it was being taken away for the sake of the comfort of others. "I'll make sure you get in on the next one, I promise."

"Okay, Michael." Jamie stood and motioned for Henrietta to follow, then waited at the door while Henrietta sought approval from Jose.

"It's okay, Henrietta. Go with Jamie and take a walk around, but don't go too far. Take your Sig but leave your case here; you shouldn't need it. Weapons are to be held unless absolutely necessary to defend your life."

"Yes, Jose." She set the case down by the door and made sure her Sig was tucked squarely away in her holster, then felt the back of her shirt to make sure it covered properly.

"Same deal, Jamie. Weapons hold unless you are in mortal danger, and don't take any candy from strangers."

"Yes, sir." His joke lightened her mood enough that she stuck out her tongue at him as she went out the door. Michael waited until he heard the door to the street close before he turned back to the task at hand.

"Sometimes I wonder if she's too smart for this work."

"Maybe the leash is too long." Ferro had to be the one to be negative about it.

"You'd prefer I bend her over my knee and spank her? She's essentially an adult, and I'm going to treat her as one and allow her to contribute to everything she can. She's a wealth of insight if you only listen, and the other girls are much the same. Sometimes I think Jean and some others close their minds to the possibilities these girls present so they can focus on their limitations."

"Enough," Jose's temper was hard to engage, but pointless bickering seemed to be a weakness of his. "She's his cyborg, Ferro, and until she makes a major mistake, we let her be what he wants her to be. Lets get this mission underway. Fermi?"

Pietro went to the large map he had tacked to the wall and made a circle with his highlighter around a building on the water's edge.

"This is the location of the meeting according to the information we have. The meeting is going to be held by Colonel Luciano Lombardi, who was the informant that led us to Colonel Gagne's explosives and weapons business in Rome. When the Colonel met his end last year at our hands, Lombardi took his place, ostensibly to prevent further spread of the weapons. He kept a low profile until we stopped watching, then he started the business back up in earnest. We now believe that Lombardi was the person running the day to day work for Gagne, while his commander kept watch and made sure things were kept fairly quiet on the paperwork side. Selling out the Colonel was no doubt a power grab on his part."

He placed the military ID photo of a full Colonel on the wall then handed everyone a series of papers with numerous figures on it.

"A quiet audit of his command's inventory shows a large amount of explosives and guns missing since the beginning of the summer. A look into his home computer showed a list of contacts within every major terrorist cell in Italy along with numerous people inside the government structure. These are mainly people who are tasked with covering things up through misguided paperwork. Regardless of his motives, he has to be taken down to stop the flow. We're not working with the Army this time, so Chief Lorenzo and Chief Draghi agreed to do this our own way and save a lot of time and effort."

Jose glanced over the papers, getting a feel for the resources the target had available. "Who else is going to be at the meeting?"

"We are reasonably certain this meeting is between his chief lieutenants in moving the goods. There should be six, plus a handful of guards. The location is guarded by four during the day, but only two at night. We can expect all six to be on guard during the meeting." He placed a set of large pictures on the wall, covering the building from three sides and at different angles to maximize the view of the layout.

The building was on the waterfront, a single dock extending from the sidewalk in front of it, and a sidewalk down each side, one next to a canal. The three-story building was going to be a problem to assault with their limited numbers.

"Even with only two on the roof, they can watch the canals and streets fairly well. The sides are fairly straight down providing no blind spots, and they seem to watch everyone that goes by, so the plan requires perfect timing to pull off."

Fermi placed a large transparency up on the board showing assault directions and sequencing.

"The action starts off with the sniping of the roof guards. Immediately after they are down, Michael and myself, and Jose and Henrietta, will storm the building from both doors on the street, each side. Expect three of the remaining guards to be on the ground floor, with the last one at the top of the stairs by the conference room. We get in, take out the guards, then grenade the conference room."

"And you actually expect this to go off as planned?" Ferro was impressed by the audacity of the plan, but little else. "What we really need is a helicopter. A fast line deployment would allow someone to take the building from the top and catch them in a cross-fire."

"Another problem..." Michael had been looking at the map and could see only one place to snipe from. "Where's the sniper setting up?"

"Here," He pointed to the southern point across the main canal. "At the Santa Maria della Salute."

"What's the range?" It looked a long way to Michael and he could shoot well out to five hundred yards.

"About Seven-hundred and fifty meters, or Eight-hundred yards."

"Shit." Things were getting better and better. "I take it you want Jamie to take the shots?"

"Yes. Can she do it?"

"Well, she could tell you better than I can, but her accuracy at six hundred yards is eighty-five percent. She's only about fifty-six or so at eight. We really need Rico for this job."

Jose did not like the chances of those shots either. "Is that the only possible spot to shoot from, Fermi?"

"Unfortunately, yes." He pointed to a spot in the north side of the city. "This was my original choice since it's the highest vantage point in range with a clear view of the roof, but while scouting I noticed that the guards check that position before they come on shift and they scan it often during it. It _is_ the most logical place, after all. The Salute has the benefit of being too far away to be an obvious spot. To my knowledge, they haven't scouted it at all."

"I'll call Jean." Jose stood and stepped into the bedroom to make the call leaving Ferro looking at Michael with what he felt was a disapproving look. It was not as if he had a huge control over Jamie's capabilities. Shooting accurately, especially at that range, is all about practice, practice, practice, and Jamie just did not have enough in yet. That sent him thinking along other lines.

"When was the last time you were a shooter on a raid, Ferro?"

"For a raid...it's been a while. I took out a few terrorists last year when we were protecting a VIP, though. I'm up on my pistol qualifications, but it's been a while for a rifle." She looked uncomfortable revealing that she had weaknesses and Michael hoped she could understand how Jamie felt when she was always being looked down upon for her perceived inadequacies.

"We'll get you something with an aim-point sight. I noticed there were a couple of G36's in the crate, so I'll give one to Jamie and you can take the other. They're easy to shoot and quick to reload, a natural close quarters weapon."

Jose came back in, the frown on his face a sure sign of how the call went. "A change of plans has Jean heading back to Florence, so Rico's out. I guess it'll have to be Jamie."

"She'll do fine. If there's one thing I've learned about her, it's that she performs better than she practices."

"I hope you're right, Michael, because our lives depend on it."

At that moment, Michael wanted to reach out and punch Ferro in the mouth. Her constant pessimism and criticism was wearing out his patience. It's one thing to be a realist or the voice of reason, but she was just downing on he and Jamie both and he was tired of it.

"What is it with you, Ferro? Are you jealous because the girls get all the action while you are stuck cleaning up their mess and faking out the cops? I know that's not as flashy of work as being a shooter, but if you're not happy with it, then quit and go back to being a secretary or maid or stripper or whatever the hell you were before. I'm sick of you constantly looking down on Jamie simply because she's an American and her attitude. I'm also sick of you taking a superior tone with me all of the time, as if you're some high and mighty rich bitch whose station in life is to look down on all those in her domain. You're not any better than I am, so stop."

The pencil in Ferro's hand snapped in two with what seemed like the sound of a telephone pole breaking. To her credit, she didn't get visibly angry, but the fury was in her eyes and she fought to keep it below the surface. She would not give him the pleasure of seeing her lose control.

Fermi took a step back from the possible battle but Jose chose to head it off, keeping at least one voice of reason in the room. "If you two want to fight you can do it back at the Agency. Right now I need both of you doing your jobs and keeping your personal opinions to yourselves. Ferro, I do not want to hear another comment about Michael or Jamie. Michael, stop being so defensive towards what she says. This ends here, right now. Is that understood, Ferro?"

Ferro nodded and turned back to Fermi's notes.

"Michael?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Fermi, lets finish this so we can get these two into some fresh air."

"Hey, Jamie, wait up!" Henrietta struggled to keep up with the fast pace Jamie was walking at, lost in thought and ignoring everything around her. The mission was on her mind and she was fighting her anxiety down with her will power, something she was getting pretty good at with Michael's help. Henrietta's voice finally broke through her cloud and she stopped to let her catch up.

"I'm sorry, I just zoned out there for a moment." She turned and smiled at the younger child, trying hard to be the big sister type. While Michael had been in Prague, she had spent much of her free time with the younger girls, trying to form something of a kinship with them since they seemed to be working together more. It was tough since they seemed to be like her, having a guarded nature.

Triela seemed to be the nicest and most outgoing, and Claes was the most distant. Where Rico and Henrietta fit in, Jamie could not tell, though they all seemed to have a place in the circle. Jamie had started playing her guitar for them while they hung their laundry to dry on the roof and they seemed to appreciate it enough, and through that she started to be accepted among them, if not a friend in the circle, then at least as someone they liked to be around.

"Well, try not to leave me behind." Henrietta clung to her purse and looked around with a concerned face, entirely unused to being out among the public without Jose beside her. There were so many people around and without Jose to look to for directions her nerves were on edge. She looked up at Jamie and saw a confident and strong look on her face, someone who could be depended upon in this environment.

"I said I'm sorry." Jamie knelt down and looked her in the eyes. "Does ice cream sound good or would you like to do something different?"

"Ice cream is fine, I guess. I've never really done anything in public without Jose or someone else from the Agency, so I don't really know what to do."

"Well, we'll stick together and try to come up with something, okay?" Jamie looked around and found what she was looking for, a small cafe on the corner that she and Michael had breakfast in earlier. "Come on, this place over here has some great food."

She took Henrietta's hand and led her to the cafe, the scent of pastries and coffee reaching them even before the stepped in the door. The man at the counter recognized her when she removed her sunglasses and gave her a friendly smile, happy to have repeat customers, especially in the same day.

"You have returned for more, eh?"

"Yes," she responded with a brilliant smile. "I brought my sister along for some ice cream, and I think I'll have a piece of that pie you had earlier."

The man looked down at Henrietta who had watched Jamie's aura seem to change before her eyes. She seemed to be quiet and timid when among the handlers or other Agency people, but when alone or among only cyborgs, she took command and was assertive over herself.

"What kind would you like, miss?"

"Huh?" His voice startled her from her thoughts about Jamie. "Err... I think I'll have chocolate."

"Alright." He began dipping the ice cream and looked between the two before him, seeing no real resemblance to speak of. Their age differences were considerable also. "You two are sisters, eh?"

"Yes, sir. Our father remarried a younger woman after my mother passed away." Jamie took a slice of pie from the counter case along with a juice bottle, setting them both by the register.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Well, that explained it well enough. The little girl looked up at her sister with a confused look, probably wondering why she was telling something personal to a man they don't know. He put the second scoop on the cone and handed it to the girl, watching her eyes light up. That's why he does his job, after all.

"Things happen, I guess." She paid and led the way to a corner table by the front windows.

"Jamie?"

"Mm..Yes?" Henrietta had caught her mid bite.

"How do you do it?" She hadn't touched her ice cream yet, confused by what she was seeing in Jamie's character.

"What's that?"

"Act so calm and outgoing with people. I have trouble sometimes when it comes to making a decision or speaking with someone from outside the agency."

Jamie thought about it a moment while chewing another bite of pie. "Well... I guess it's just who I am. I seem to be able to speak to people easily once I have my thoughts in line. There are times I'm caught off-guard and can't think straight, but Michael said that's just because I still short on experience with people. I mean, look at Petra and Sandro; always dressing up like entirely different people and playing their parts to perfection. I walked into her room once and wondered who the person in front of me was. I was about to call security before she spoke in her normal voice and convinced me."

"I wonder why I have so much trouble being like that?"

"Like what?"

"More... Normal." The ice cream was melting onto her hand but she did not seem to notice, so deep she was into her thoughts.

"You _are_ normal, Henrietta. I've seen the way the others act, and you're no different than Rico, really. You're both quiet and reserved when it comes to outsiders, but with each other or your handlers, you have all the confidence in the world. That's the same as any child your age, so be happy with who you are and live life to it's fullest. None of us know how much time we have, so we have to make the best of it."

Jamie's words seemed to get through and the little girl before her nodded, feeling better about things. The she gave another puzzled look, unable to figure something out.

"Jamie, where did you learn all this? About other children and being so... inspirational?"

That stopped Jamie mid bite. How did she know it? Why could she feel so down at times and yet lift others up from their own problems with words and ideas that she really didn't have any experience in? Things like this were cropping up all of the time now and she found part of herself glad it was there, but mostly just frightened of the fact she was missing something very important about herself that was now slipping out in bits and pieces.

"I don't know. Sometimes I start talking and things just come out, like they were hidden on the top shelf of a closet. When I pull on one thing, many others come falling down from the darkness. I think they're bits of who I was before." She watched several drips of melted ice cream fall on the table and figured she had better say something. "You're ice cream is melting."

"AAH!" Henrietta started licking furiously at the ice cream, trying not to lose it to the abyss of the floor. It took a few minutes, but she eventually stabilized it and turned back to the conversation.

"What do you think of Michael?"

Jamie blushed at the pry into her private life, a conversation she had so far managed to avoid with others.

"It's okay to like him, you know. It's part of the conditioning and we all have it. Some just seem to like their handlers more than others."

"Yeah. Michael is... Michael is Michael. He's kind to me now since we ditched the strict regimen that we started out on. He can be very insightful at times, especially when it comes to my feelings." She had seemed almost in a dreamy state while speaking but when her thoughts turned to things she disliked about him her face changed to one of sadness.

"Then there are times when he seems indifferent to my concerns about him; that makes me worry. There are also the times when it seems like he's lying to me to cover something up, and that also worries me. Worst of all... He just seems to push me away, as if getting close will hurt him."

"Maybe it does." Henrietta was staring off into her limited understanding of emotions as she licked her ice cream. It was similar to the way Jose felt about her, afraid to get close but feeling the necessity to do so for her sake. "He cares about you like no one else, but whatever is hurting him is something only he can work through. All you can do is be there for him when he needs you."

"I know, but it's difficult and frustrating."

"I think he understands you, he's very perceptive."

"Hm." She stared out the window at the people passing by, wondering what her future held. Her life was supposed to be simple in comparison. She didn't have to worry about working a day job to feed or clothe herself, medical was covered in-house, and she got to shoot guns, which was fun for the most part. So why was she so fundamentally unhappy deep inside? Maybe because she didn't feel loved?

It was a ridiculous train of thought the more she considered it. She was a cyborg. She was not supposed to love or be loved, just fight; but she could no more turn it off than she could ignore it. Something inside her longed for a comfort zone, a place where she knew someone had faith in her, and accepted her for who she was. The Agency simply did not do it for her apparently, so her soul was looking for somewhere else.

"We should probably get back, Jamie. They might be ready to go by now."

"Hm? Oh...Right."

Henrietta had stirred her from the thought just as she was making some headway into what she needed. They stood and put on their jackets and Jamie waved goodbye to the clerk as they went out, being friendly as ever on the outside while the turmoil raged on within her.

The street was crowded and with her mind deep in thought, she left Henrietta behind far enough for her to call out again for Jamie to wait. Jamie turned and started walking backwards slowly, motioning for her friend to catch up, ignoring what was happening behind and around her. Henrietta was only a few steps away when Jamie spun quickly and started to walk again without looking, slamming into a pair of men and knocking one to the street. Jamie looked down in shock at what she had done but then offered her hand to help him up, a weak, apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. Here, let me help you up."

"Why don't you watch where you're going, you clumsy bitch!" He slapped her hand away and got to his feet, brushing himself off. His response in British English threw Jamie for a second since she was so used to Italian, but she quickly adjusted to her normal American English, hoping to defuse the situation.

"I'm sorry sir, I wasn't watching where I was going. I didn't mean any offense."

"Offense my arse. I should teach you a thing or two about offense." He raised his hand to backhand her, sending Jamie into a defensive mindset and preparing her counter attack, but his friend stepped in, grabbing his wrist.

"Tommy, we don't need any trouble, alright, mate? Lets just ignore this and go on our way."

'Tommy's' eyes burned with hatred for a moment longer, evidently used to putting people in their places, but Jamie refused to be cowed, glaring at him in return. Then his face changed. A moment of fear took hold but was quickly followed by a questioning look, almost as if he couldn't understand whether what he was seeing was real or not.

"Do I know you?"

Jamie's own face had not changed, but her thoughts had progressed much along the same lines. The man seemed familiar, a feeling inside her told her she had seen him somewhere before. This was followed by a feeling of fear; one that threatened to consume her body, but she held firm and kept her rational mind in control.

"I doubt it. I'd remember someone as crude as yourself."

The friend spoke up again, defusing the situation. "Alright, missy, just go on your way." He pulled his friend down the street and she watched them go, positive she had seen the man somewhere before.

"That was incredible, Jamie." Henrietta had stood to the side during the altercation, acting timid and afraid, but with her hand a mere inch from her gun that was tucked in her purse.

"Yeah..." She suddenly had to find someplace out of the crowd, someplace less vulnerable. "Lets go, now." She grabbed Henrietta's free hand and moved quickly across a bridge and to a bench beside the canal. The moment she sat down her body was consumed by trembling, so severe that her companion started to wonder whether she should look for medical help.

"Jamie, are you okay?"

"No... I need..." She couldn't finish the sentence. It just wasn't possible with the sudden sobbing that started. She hugged herself tightly and hunched over, willing her body to stop shaking, but the only thing that she could do was continue sobbing.

"I'm going to get Michael." The seemingly mysterious thing happening to Jamie was enough to spook Henrietta, who had turned to go when her arm was seized in Jamie's iron grip.

"No! Don't leave me. I can't be alone right now."

Henrietta sat down next to her, afraid to even touch her lest something be made worse. Jamie rocked herself gently and took deep breaths between sobs, working to calm herself in the face of the fear and hopelessness that she was suddenly reacting to. Something had set off an absolute wave of fear within her, and despite her own thoughts she could not figure out the reason why she felt afraid.

"I want to help."

"Just... Just stay here with me. Please." Her shaking and sobbing continued for a few more minutes before she was able to settle down, her breathing returning to normal. She put her head in her hands, wanting to cry after the realization of how overwhelmed she had been by the incident, entirely unable to control her own body.

"Are you going to be okay, Jamie?" Henrietta was worried for her and trying her best to not be afraid herself.

"I'll be fine, Henrietta, I just need a moment more." She focused on what she was going to tell Michael about this. If she told him right away, he might pull her off of the mission, and with only one cyborg, they would likely call it off. He would take the blame for her failures and they might send her back to the lab for reconditioning. They might even fire him, and given the rumors she had heard about the way they protected the agency's secrecy he'd probably be killed. She could not allow that to happen. She was trained to kill or be killed to protect him, so there was no reason a lie was not possible for her.

" 'Etta, I need you to do something for me." She lifted her head and looked at a boat passing by in the canal.

"Of course, anything to help."

"Keep this incident just between us, okay? If Jose or Ferro find out, they might cancel the mission and blame Michael."

"I don't know..." The idea of hiding something from Jose was not one she was happy with.

"If they blame Michael, they'll send me back for reconditioning and punish him even worse. Think about it, you wouldn't want Jose to take the blame for your mistakes or failures, right?"

"Um... No, not really." That thought was something she disliked more than lying.

"I promise, tonight will go off without a mistake. Whatever this was must have been caused by bumping into that guy in the street, and that is not likely to happen again tonight, so there's nothing to worry about, right?"

"I...I guess so. But you have to tell Michael eventually. I'm sure he'd want to help you more than anything."

"I know... I just don't want him hurt because of my failings." She managed to stand and step to the railing by the canal, hoping that whatever her issue, it kept to itself until after that night. She had to perform to expectations on this, her first real mission, and everything extraneous had to be removed from her thoughts. "Mums the word?"

"Yes... Just make sure you tell him after the mission."

"I will, I promise."

Jamie felt well enough to head back to the base and the pair arrived just as the others were coming out of the door to conduct their reconnaissance of the target. Michael waved her over and Henrietta ran to join Jose as he and Ferro continued down the street.

"Did you have fun together?"

"Yeah... It was okay. We had pie and talked about you." Jamie smiled at him, but Michael thought he had seen something after the first word, a hint that things were not okay. Maybe it was guilt over talking about him?

"That's good." He led her up to the apartment and tossed some clothes to her. "Change clothes quick. We need to get to your post for tonight and see if it's even going to be possible from there."

She held the worker's coveralls up to her body and gauged the fit, then looked at him again. "You're kidding, right?" She hated the worker style.

"Wish I was." He pulled on his own pair, thankful that his normal clothes underneath did not make the fit too tight.

"Is it too late to go into modeling?" She sighed deeply and pulled her casual clothes from one of the shopping bags, then went into the nearest bedroom to change.

"You're too skinny for the runway," he called after her through the door. He quickly gathered up the things they would need and put them into a toolbox. They had access to the Salute's roof for supposed inspection of a fracture in one of its railings, a possible safety issue or some such thing. Fermi's connections were impressive and should the recon pan out, he also had access to the roof for the night's adventures, rifles and all.

Jamie slipped out of her suit and into her jeans and t-shirt, noticing how quickly she had gone from businesswoman back to the college kid. She pulled her hair up and tucked it away under her ball-cap, and then pulled the overalls on, feeling the constriction as the zipper reached it's top. Her non-skid tactical boots would work just fine for what she needed, looking almost identical to steel-toed work boots. A stiletto slipped into the boot's custom sheathe and her pant leg covered it nicely. When she stepped from the room she was just another worker in a jump suit, though one that was decidedly feminine in profile.

"All set, Jamie?"

"Yes." She slid her Walther into a pocket holster and slipped it into the deep recess of her overalls pocket, testing the griping surface of the holster to make sure it would not come out with the gun if she needed it.

Michael marveled at her persistence in her methods. The things he'd been teaching her for all those months was sticking like glue, and if she could put her full focus to doing her job, she would be an incredible asset to the agency. Especially if they wised up and started using the cyborgs' brains along with their brawn, but he wasn't putting any money on that idea. Bureaucracies never learned anything, something those years in the CIA taught him.

"Lets go."

The view from the roof of the Salute was incredible making Michael wish he had Henrietta's camera. Jamie stepped to the rail facing the main canal, basking in the sun and feeling the breeze, her hat in hand and her hair blowing in the wind. At that moment Michael wished he had not insisted she keep it as short as it was. She would look almost angelic with long hair billowing around her.

"Jamie... Come away from the rail. As nice a day as it is, we have work to do."

"Yes, Michael." She stepped away from her perch and put her hat back on, but still had a smile on her face, her emotions keyed up for the better.

He handed her the spotting scope with the laser rangefinder that he had tucked into the toolbox.

"Get us a sighting on the target. Here's the picture for you." He gave her a picture that Fermi had taken with a telephoto lens from the sidewalk below them.

"All right."

Jamie rolled out the mat and crouched down, edging up to the railing and setting the scope near the edge where its field of view was clear. She settled into her prone firing position and gazed through the high-powered scope, training the crosshairs on the building in the picture. She could clearly see the two guards on the roof and there was a blind-covered window on the third floor, likely the room the meeting was going to be in. She sighted on the corner of the building and keyed the laser, getting a reading of a hair over eight hundred yards. The elevation of the target was equal to the shooting position and there was adequate cover she could use for concealment if needed. A few more measurements were made with the laser and she jotted it all down onto her target map-book, scrawling in a rough sketch of the surrounding buildings and the dock. She keyed the numbers into her ballistics calculator along with the memorized stats of her selected load.

Michael made himself useful and gave the railing a thorough looking over, keeping them in character. He watched Jamie go about her sniper duties with the soulless perfection the cyborgs had when they focused on their tasks, glad that the morning's troubles seemed to well behind them. She returned with her gear and packed it away in the toolbox and handed her notepad to Michael for his approval.

"Can you do it?"

"Not in the wind that exists right now. The wind will calm as the pressure settles tonight. The convection off of the canal probably won't hurt any, but at that range it's hard to tell.

"Time to target?"

"Point eight seconds with the three hundred grain loads."

"And the report?"

"Two seconds. The second guard will be dead just as the sound of the first shot reaches you."

"Remember what I told you, Jamie; Take your time and make the shots count. We can't have a mistake tonight."

Her eyes had become the focused and frightening ones he feared at times, and he could only guess it was because of his seeming lack of faith in her skills. "No mistakes, no survivors."

"Okay... final check on the mission time-line." Ferro was taking Fermi's place on Michael's assault team since she had more practical experience than he, and she pointed at the map they had set up in the staging base a few blocks from the target.

"Michael and I, and Jose and Henrietta approach the target in a casual manner in pairs, just run of the mill tourists or whatever. When Michael and I get to the bridge here," she tapped her pointer at the spot, "Jamie will give us a final visual recon and Michael will make the decision to go weapons free. Jose and Henrietta will be on the other side near their entry point. Jamie will open fire at the sentries at her discretion, and both teams will move in at the first sound of the shots."

"Are the doors going to be an issue?" Since Michael had been at the Salute, he had not had a chance to eye the doors himself.

"Henrietta's door is standard, an easy kick-in entry for her. Ours is a sliding wooden door for cargo purposes, so it's going to have a steel lock on it, probably a bar or something."

"My fifty can take care of that." He had been itching to try out the rifle in real action. "Since we're facing the back of the building, Jose and Henrietta will be downrange but not actually in the firing line. The back wall was stone?"

Fermi nodded, because collateral was an issue tonight he had personally verified the walls' construction to avoid over-penetration into the neighborhood.

"Then I doubt with the intervening obstacles that the rounds will go out of the building."

"Back to Jamie... after she takes her primary targets she will rush down to where Gabrielli will be waiting with a boat to bring her across the canal to where we are, to provide additional backup. The action will probably be over by then, but there's always a chance of a prolonged fight. Fermi will arrive with a boat after we enter the building and secure the exterior. This also gives us two avenues to cut off any possible escape they could make should they get to their boats."

"And Colonel Lombardi is the primary target."

"Yes. If you get a clear shot at him, take it. He must not escape that building alive. The others need to be killed, but they are secondary." Ferro next pointed to the interior plan. "Jose and Henrietta will proceed up the stairs and lob grenades into the meeting room doorway, or kill them as they come out. Michael and I have the primary task of securing the ground floor and then will provide cover for the upstairs assault."

"It sounds like we're winging it a bit after the initial entry." Jose was worried about his team safety after their door is breached.

"Wait for Michael's gun to open our entry, you can't miss it. After we're in, commence your entry and that should catch them in a flanking maneuver. Jamie?"

Jamie's eyes snapped to Ferro from her own notes. "Yes?"

"Should the guards get on their boat, it will be your job to stop them by any means necessary. A little before the assault begins I will arrange for my police contacts to secure the docks near the train station so that they cannot escape that way. The cover of this mission depends on there being no survivors to tell the tale."

"They won't get away, Ferro." The determination in Jamie's voice told of what extents she would go to in order to complete her mission.

"Okay...anything I might have missed?"

"Clean-up?"

"We secure the scene until our support team arrives tonight. They should be in around two, so all we have to do is tell the police that this was a military operation and we, posing as section one, are assisting in the site security. I have paperwork to cover it." The plan was not perfect, but it was workable now.

Michael had watched Jamie's expressions as she had answered and felt a bit of relief at her response. She was still the killer cyborg that could follow directions, regardless of her rapidly developing personality. Ferro seemed satisfied for the moment, which meant she'd stay off of her back and let her concentrate for the night.

"Lets keep things clean on our side, okay? It is now-," she checked her watch, "nine thirty four. The targets will arrive at ten thirty, and the meeting starts at eleven, according to the intelligence. Everyone needs to be in the target block by ten minutes till, and at the assault positions by eleven. We'll let the meeting get started, then we strike."

"Question." Michael raised his hand like he was in school.

"Yes?"

"Is this how you plan out your romantic evenings, because I have to say that I'm impressed at the thoroughness." The serious business of the night lay ahead and he felt like they all needed a moment of levity to ease the tensions. Ferro frowned in the way that he had learned meant that she thought it was funny, maybe, but she refused to show it.

"You'll never know, Michael."

Michael smiled and winked at Fermi. "She digs me." Fermi and Jose laughed a little at that.

"Alright, lets get ready."

The door was unlatched and partly open, but Michael knocked anyway as he opened it, knowing Jamie was the only person in the room. She was wearing only her panties and pulling on her tactical cargo pants, and Michael turned his back respectfully, closing the door.

"Sorry..."

"Don't be, I left it open because I heard you coming. You should stop carrying around your car keys on that ring because they make too much noise." She put on her belt, feeding it through her Blackhawk drop-leg holster before latching it tight and fastening the holster's leg straps.

Michael continued staring at the door but her attitude was making him start to re-evaluate her moods and methods. While he had accepted the fact that she became almost mechanical when in action, he found it odd the way that the mission seemed to overwhelm almost everything about her personality. Were they at the agency, his entry in the same manner would have elicited a shocked and modest response. She was now focusing on the mission, and though her eyes had not changed, her personality had; to one of simple acceptance of conditions that she would otherwise respond negatively to. He was not entirely sure that was normal for the cyborgs.

He turned around reluctantly, deciding to watch her to see if she was really okay. She was digging through her bag of clothes, looking intently for something. He spotted her sports bra draped neatly over her weapons bag and picked it up, holding it at arms length.

"Looking for this?"

"Ah, yes!" Jamie snatched it from his hand and pulled it on, adjusting it until she was comfortable.

"The memory giving you trouble, Jamie?" He was concerned now since he had heard of the ways the first-generation cyborgs were starting to have problems.

"I just have a lot on my mind, that's all. I have my bag and rifle ready and Signora Gabrielli will be taking me to the Salute in a little bit. I have to focus to make the shots, but clearing my mind has been... difficult."

He sat down on the bed and pulled her by the arm to sit next to him. "Talk to me about it."

"It's nothing, really."

"Jamie... Please, I can see it's bothering you."

Her blue eyes met his and she lingered there, almost wrapping herself in it for comfort. He was concerned for her and she felt herself drawn to telling him about earlier.

"Something happened today while Henrietta and I were out, and I can't explain it."

"I'm here to listen."

She took a deep breath and let it out, working on staying calm while reconstructing it in her mind.

"We left the cafe and I was walking backwards, waiting for Henrietta to catch up. I knocked down one of two men, a British guy named Tommy. He got angry with me, but I held strong, keeping my cool and not going for my weapon. At one point he was about to backhand me across the face and Henrietta was going for her gun, but the guy's friend stopped him, saying that they didn't need any trouble right then."

"Okay..."

"Then the guy looked me in the eyes and... he seemed scared, then curious. Then he asked me if we had met before. I don't remember ever seeing him, but deep down I felt the same, like I had seen him before somewhere. Then..." She stared off, seeming to draw inward a bit. "Then I felt scared. It was deep inside me, like it started in my spine and was trying to make its way out. I held firm and stared the guy down until they left. Then I just had to find some place to sit down."

Michael had been wondering how much she was going to remember and how quickly once they found the men who had hurt her, but he had not anticipated simply running into one on the street. There was no other explanation for her to feel like she remembered the guy. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, trying his best to be supportive without stifling her.

"I just shook and cried once I sat down. I felt like everything I could ever possibly fear had confronted me at once and all I could do was feel terrified." She stopped staring and pulled away enough to look up at him, looking for answers. "What is there in my past that could paralyze me from sheer fright?"

He expected the question, as she was too smart to not ask it. Like a skilled defense attorney, he had his answer ready, and he looked her in the eyes, making it all the more believable.

"I don't know, Jamie. Whatever it is, you need to push that fear aside and work through it. Courage isn't being brave. Courage is about acknowledging fear and being able to press on past it to complete the mission."

"I know." Jamie stood and grabbed her t-shirt from the head of the bed, pulling it on. She had gone back to the accepting attitude from before, getting her game face on. "Tonight goes off without a hitch. I will not make any mistakes, and I'll kill five of the bad guys for you."

"Jamie..." Michael stood and put his hands on her shoulders, looking straight into her eyes again. "Don't kill them for me. Kill them because they deserve to die, and because the agency told you to. I don't want you counting bodies like they're currency, okay? That's not something I can accept as easily as Jean or Jose, and it's not something you will benefit from. You kill who you have to in order to achieve your goals. All extras are just a waste, trust me."

He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling remorse over the bastard that had stabbed him. He had obtained his information, but the man was going to die anyway from the "interrogation" and from the shots Michael had put into him in the ensuing gunfight. He had been put out of his limited time of misery, plain and simple.

Jamie read his face and thought he was worried about her, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, squeezing him tight to her.

"Don't worry about me, Michael. I'm okay now and on-mission. We'll discuss this tomorrow after we get back to the agency."

Her hug surprised him, drawing him from his thoughts.

"Err...Yeah. Lets get tonight over with."

She pulled on her jacket, holstered an M9 Beretta from the nightstand, shouldered her weapons pack, and maneuvered her rifle case out the door.

"I'll be fine on my own tonight, Michael. You just be careful when you go in. I'll meet up with you after I take my shots."

"Okay. Remember what I taught you."

"Ciao." She thumped her way down the steps and out to the boat where Gabrielli was waiting.

Ferro stepped from the other bedroom, dressed in suit pants and a black t-shirt, the most casual he'd ever seen her. Her leather shoulder holster held her FN Five-seveN, and she had her long coat in her hands.

"Ready, Michael?"

"Yeah." He loaded his AR-15 and slipped on the one-point sling, hanging the gun from his chest so it would be covered by his trench coat. The spare magazines were in his vest pouches and the weight was considerable for a rifle rig. Ferro did much the same for her G36, taking three spare magazines and a pair of flash-bangs. Her coat covered it well enough, but the cut of the women's coat made it bulge at her midsection where the rifle was.

"Hm, you look like you're pregnant and just starting to show."

"I _am_ expecting in a way. Trouble comes in all shapes and sizes."

"One day you'll pop out a few kids and mellow out, mark my words." He led the way to the door, holding it open in his chivalrous way.

"Don't hold your breath, Christiansen." She struggled to manage the steps with her extra weight and the gun draped down her front. Michael had to stifle his laugh, as she looked just like a pregnant woman waddling down the steps.

The night had cooled but only enough that their coats were not uncomfortable. Michael and Ferro walked the sidewalk, his arm around her to better be seen as a loving couple on an evening stroll. She was seething quietly, unable to lash back for fear of breaking their cover, but she had whispered that she was going to make him pay for putting his hands on her, something Michael could only look forward to.

It was ten till eleven when they made it to the objective, the building looming three stories above them, and guards with guns likely watching them, looking for any hint of deception.

"This is Michael, all teams check in."

"Long Arm is in position." Jamie had chosen her handle based not only on the long gun she wielded but also because she was "the long arm of the law." It was cute and Michael allowed her to keep it.

"Jose here...We're almost in final position."

"Pietro is on station."

"Gabrielli is ready."

"Ferro's ready."

"We are green-light. Jamie, give us the picture." He stopped Ferro at the rail by the canal and they leaned on it as a couple, gazing at the lights of the Salute reflecting off of it.

"Two guards on the roof, watching you and Jose, relaxed. I can see the lights on in the conference room, no visual on subjects inside." Her voice was mechanical and cool, the hallmark of a sniper. "Time check: three minutes till."

The time ticked by slowly and Michael felt Ferro fidget a little in anticipation. His own adrenaline was pumping now, waiting for the action to start. He had to calm himself down through sheer will power.

"Time." Jamie's voice came over the earpiece. "I see movement in the window."

Seconds passed and Michael carefully flipped his coat buttons loose as he felt Ferro do the same.

"Confirmed, meeting has started, players are in place. Long Arm is on-target."

Michael turned Ferro to face him and put his hands on her shoulders. "All teams: Weapons free. Long Arm, fire when ready."

"Stand by..."

After several moments pause, there was a sound that Michael could not describe, then the loud shattering of glass. He stood stunned, looking at the same expression on Ferro's face.

Jamie had missed.

"Shit."

The sound of the shot reached them from across the canal and they had to move. They both tossed off their coats and flipped their rifles up, thumbing off the safeties. Michael dashed towards the door, raising his sight to the spot where the top of the door met the track. He heard a scream from the roof and knew that Jamie's second shot hit it's mark, but the report was drowned out by the deafening roar of the fifty caliber rounds as he raked them across the top of the door.

The eight rounds from the twelve-round magazine did their job, tearing holes in the wood and metal, and smashing the pulley mounts the door tracked on. He slammed into the door, sending it falling inwards, then ducked to the side of the stone exterior, seeking cover as he changed magazines. Ferro took up a spot on the other side and raised her rifle, firing at one of the guards inside. Michael lobbed his flash-bang inside and let it detonate, hoping the hallway they entered through shielded Jose and Henrietta from it.

Jose could not help but hear the shots from Michael's rifle, the sound echoing down the narrow passages of the city and across the water to the south. He and Henrietta had arrived at the right moment and she kicked in the door before Michael's second shot had been fired.

Jose stepped inside, catching sight of a target as they opened a door from a room. His Five-seveN fired and the three rounds ripped through the man, a look of shock and surprise on his face as he fell. Henrietta rushed past him to secure the side hall before moving towards the large storage bay that Michael and Ferro were assaulting. There was the sound of a flash-bang and yells from the enemy as they were momentarily blinded.

Ferro rushed in after the flash-bang, crossing to cover behind a large crate to the left. She covered Michael as he followed her, stopping right next to her and firing at the two guards at the other end of the bay as she reloaded.

She was saying something that Michael could not hear because of the pounding his ears had taken, even through the earplugs, and he glanced at her to try to understand it. That's when he felt, rather than heard, the metallic clunk beside him and he swung around to see a fragmentation grenade lying next to him.

He had little time for hoping the fuse was faulty or long, but he shifted and kicked the grenade as hard as he could back across the bay, then fell on top of Ferro, knocking her down and shielding her body with his as the grenade went off, sending shrapnel everywhere in the room. Pieces ripped through the box they were behind, showering them with slivers of wood and debris as the metal shards passed above their heads.

When his hearing came back Michael could hear Henrietta's P90 firing, seemingly from miles away. Ferro was looking up at him, trying to push him off of her so she could get back up. Three men ran out the door past them, not even giving a second glance to the pair on the ground, so busy they were in trying to escape.

Michael rolled off Ferro and got to his knees, looking back towards the stairs to check on Jose and Henrietta who were in a heated gun battle there.

Ferro was yelling in his ear and spun him around towards the door. "They're getting away! I'll cover Jose, go get them!"

"Yeah..." He ran out onto the sidewalk and took aim at one of the three who had climbed into a speedboat alone, but was having trouble with the mooring lines. Michael did not hesitate when his sights came up and he fired, the four-hundred grain bullets ripping through the man and pitching him over the edge into the water. Michael then fired at the other boat, which was already a hundred yards into the canal, but his hands were shaking and the shots went wide, splashing into the water.

"Jamie! Two men in a boat leaving our position, heading northwest in the main canal, get on them!"

"Yes, sir."

Pietro Fermi pulled up to the dock and Michael climbed in, pointing for him to follow the other boat. Somewhere in the seconds after the grenade had gone off, he had been stunned and let the bad guys get past him and Ferro, and he was not sure how or why.

"Your head's bleeding, Michael."

"What?" He touched his head and felt pain from a spot a few inches above his right ear where a bit of wood had cut it in the explosion. With the adrenaline pumping and his focus on the mission, he had not noticed it, but it certainly explained his being stunned. "It's only a scratch, keep on the boat."

He could see Jamie and Gabrielli rocketing across the canal to intercept the other boat, and sure enough they were heading for the docks near the train station and car parking. If they got into those crowds, they would never find them.

"Ferro here... We're secure here at the objective and I've alerted the police to block all boats attempting to dock near the station."

"They're not getting away, not tonight." Jamie's excitement was noticeable over the radio as she closed in on the boat.

Henrietta threw Jose to the ground when she heard the grenade rattle back towards their side of the ground floor. Two men who had thrown the grenade were killed instantly by its fragments, some of which ripped above her and Jose's heads and tore out chunks of brick and plaster in the hallway behind them. It was a stunning event and they lay there for several seconds, feeling the narrowness of their escape wash through them.

Henrietta stood first and nearly was able to bring her weapon to bear on three men who had come down the steps and ran past their dead colleagues. She had to trust in Ferro and Michael to do their parts, so she could proceed with her own. Jose was back on his feet and motioning her forward towards the stairs.

She blitzed across the gap, drawing automatic weapons fire from somewhere near the top, the bullets bouncing off of the concrete floor and tearing coin-sized chunks from it. She carefully leaned around the corner and fired a burst at the right-most man, catching him in the chest. He fell into the man next to him who Jose shot as he was trying to keep himself from falling down the steep, narrow steps. One of Jose's shots caught him in the head and he tumbled lifeless down the stairs, ending in a heap at the bottom.

The remaining men scattered, one guard and a meeting member ducking into the conference room, the remaining guard running up the stairs to the roof. Henrietta dashed up the stairs and lobbed a grenade into the conference room, then ducked below the floor line before it detonated. Jose continued up the steps to the roof and caught sight of the guard as he was getting ready to jump to the next building.

He took a breath and calmed his nerves, aiming carefully down his pistol's sights, firing just as the man leaped, catching him mid air with two rounds. He fell to the roof of the next building and started clawing his way as best he could, still trying to get away.

Jose stepped to the edge and aimed, putting a bullet into his target's head, finishing the night for he and Henrietta.

She and Ferro were standing in the doorway to the meeting room, looking at the destruction wrought by the grenade. The walls were pocked with baseball-sized holes and the three occupants in the room were definitely dead, their blood pooling on the wood floor.

Ferro stepped over to the body by the window, turning his head to get a better look at his face.

"It's the colonel." He had a massive hole in his head and from the dark blood on the floor beneath the window; he only bled out from there, not the several wounds from the grenade.

"Damn... I think Jamie shot him." She was impressed, but did not have time to be more than that. Her phone was in her hand in a second and she was calling the police to start their blockade of the docks.

"Garibaldi, it's Ferro. Three suspects escaped the assault. Be ready to stop them when they get there."

She hung up and keyed her microphone. "Ferro here... We're secure here at the objective and I've alerted the police to block all boats attempting to dock near the station."

Jamie was prone on her shooters mat, entirely comfortable and relaxed, the gun at her shoulder an extension of her arm rather than a separate weapon. She watched Michael and Ferro approach the target through her scope, being careful not to center the crosshairs on them.

They looked like a couple, his arm around her and she leaning into him as they walked. It was all she could do to focus through her sudden wish that it was herself there beside him rather than Ferro.

"We are green-light." Michael's voice came over the radio, calm and collected. "Jamie, give us the picture."

She raised the sight to the roof, watching the movement of the guards. They were watching the two pairs on both sides of the building, but their posture indicated boredom rather than hostility, their guns slung and two seconds away from being ready to fire. It wasn't going to be enough time, she thought.

"Two guards on the roof, watching you and Jose, relaxed. I can see the lights on in the conference room, no visual on subjects inside. Time check: three minutes till." She was in the zone, her voice flat and precise. Her nerves were trying to force her into a state of excitement, but she fought them, keeping her breathing and heart rate as normal as possible; the very pulsing of her blood through her fingertips could throw the shot off. The shots had to come off perfect and anything that threatened that was ignored or dealt with.

She ran through her checklist again in her head. Her rifle was on its bipod, held firm in place with a weighted bag to help eliminate recoil. Her scope was set the appropriate number of clicks to adjust for the trajectory and the steady breeze was an easy adjustment for windage.

The window and entire roof were in her view through the scope from this range and motion in the window drew her attention. She checked her watch and looked at the window again.

"Time... I see movement in the window." She could really only see vague shapes, but the amount of movement suggested a large number of people. When it settled down, she figured it was starting and trained her crosshairs on the roof-guard furthest away. "Confirmed, meeting has started, players are in place. Long Arm is on-target."

"All teams: Weapons free. Long Arm, fire when ready."

This was it, her first deliberate action against an enemy combatant. She settled into the stock, her left fist supporting the rear of the stock, a gentle squeeze dropping the sight onto her target's chest. Her finger gently rested on the trigger and was only a hair away from unleashing certain death upon the man in her sights.

A movement at the window caught her eye and a silhouette of a man's head was there, looking out. The shape matched their primary target's picture and it was a long shot, but taking out the head of the group was highest priority and could damage their ability to react to the assault.

She swung the crosshairs to the window and fired off the shot as the crosshairs landed on the target, a tongue of flame stretching out of the barrel. She captured the sight-picture in her mind and she knew without waiting that her target was a dead man. She cycled the bolt rapidly and immediately swung the sights back up, sighting on the furthest guard again, noting that he had looked up in response to the breaking glass. Her next shot was away in an instant and the bullet struck home at the same moment the report from the first shot reached them.

The second guard started running towards the door in the roof when he watched his friend go down, and her next shot met him there, sending him tumbling down the steps out of sight. There were no other targets in sight and the ones in the window were keeping below its field of view.

Her job there was done, so she picked up her rifle and bag and ran for the rope she had used to climb up there, tossing the loose end down to the ground below. The sound of a flash-bang projected across the water and the sound of full-auto weapons fire was distinguishable even above that. Things were pretty hot there, even more the reason for her to hurry.

She slid down the rope the way they had learned to fast-rope from helicopters, no harness, no safety lines, just a controlled slide down a flexible fire-pole, her arms pulling tight against her chest to help slow her descent. The bottom came quick and she slowed, then dropped lightly to the ground.

A fragmentation grenade went off in the target building, as if the evening needed any more noise, Jamie thought. She rushed towards the boat, yelling and waving for Gabrielli to start pulling away, and it was about four feet from the dock when she arrived, leaping into the air with her full load of gear and landing with a solid thump, which rocked the boat wildly.

"GO! Get me over there!"

"Right!" Gabrielli threw the throttle to the stop and the boat surged ahead, building speed as they crossed into the busy canal.

More shots from Michael's rifle sounded across the water and Jamie could just see that the fight had moved out onto the dock there. A boat was moving away from the objective and turning their way as Michael fired wildly at it, unsuccessfully. His voice crackled over her earpiece, sounding winded.

"Jamie! Two men in a boat leaving our position, heading northwest in the main canal, get on them!"

She keyed her microphone as she unzipped the second case that she had left in the boat while at the Salute.

"Yes, sir."

She felt mentally excited, but her body was calm and collected; her motions efficient and exact as she pulled her new G36 from the case and slapped a magazine into it. She yanked on the charging handle and checked the brightness of the reflex-sight in the carry handle, flipped the safety to the two-round burst setting, then tapped Gabrielli on the shoulder.

"That boat there is our targets. Head right for them, and get close as we pass."

"How close?" They were yelling over the howl of the motors and the wind blowing past them.

"Hit them if possible." Jamie climbed onto the bow and took up a kneeling position on the starboard side, steadying herself against the small rail along the edge.

Gabrielli could not believe that she was actually following Jamie's order, but she turned the boat directly towards the advancing enemy, aiming for their bow and making adjustments as they tried to divert to the side.

Jamie's radio crackled again; "Ferro here... We're secure here at the objective and I've alerted the police to block all boats attempting to dock near the station."

"They're not getting away, not tonight." She would not let them.

A man climbed onto the bow of the boat and shouldered a rifle.

"GET DOWN, NOW," she yelled at Gabrielli, then Jamie aimed and fired, the two shots missing into the boat and water as she tried to adjust for the motion of two boats. The man opened fire in full-auto and she could hear the bullets ripping past her and into the boat. She fired a couple more times in burst mode, then switched to full-auto as the distance closed, taking aim a little low and her shots shattering the plexi-glass windshield of the target boat.

They were about to hit head on and the enemy pilot swerved to starboard suddenly, aiming to pass close along Gabrielli's port side. This was the opening Jamie was looking for and as they closed to several yards, she launched to her feet, took three steps running start across the bow and leapt into space as hard and high as she could.

Her rifle came up as she arced towards the other boat, and she fired, ignoring the gaping space of water beneath her as she fell. The man on the bow took several rounds to the chest and staggered back, off balance as the boat started to turn.

Jamie watched the boat move in under her, her feet hit the deck, and she slammed into the man she had shot, transferring almost all her momentum to him and knocking him over the side. She still had a lot of inertia though, and she fell on the slick deck, sliding to the rail and over it towards the cold water that was flashing by at high speed. Her left arm reached out and grabbed the rail with its full strength, stopping her fall but she was now being dragged half in the water, it's pull threatening to consume her entirely. She abandoned the rifle and grabbed the rail with her right arm, pulling herself up onto the pitching deck.

As soon as the pilot saw her climb up, he swerved and tried to throw her back into the sea but she was already on her feet and the adrenaline was burning in her veins. She drew her Beretta from the thigh-holster and fired three shots through the shattered wind-screen and into the pilot's head, blasting a gaping hole out the back of his skull. His hand clutched the wheel as he fell and the boat swerved to starboard, staggering Jamie. She fought for her balance and regained it, but a sight ahead caught her attention and for the first time that night, she started to panic.

Ahead of the boat, mere seconds away, was a water-taxi loading dock, crowded with innocent people. They were alert and moving out of the way, but there was no way she could change the boat's course to save herself. She was going to crash into a wooden and stone dock at high speed, in a fiberglass boat, and as invincible as she had felt before, she had to wonder if things were getting a bit too dangerous, even for her. It came down to time and she had only seconds to react. The water was rushing by and the lights of the dock were reflecting off of the chrome railing on the bow, time was wasting away. This was it, the end of whatever her life had become.

She heard a voice behind her, a voice very like her own, yell "Jump," and it seemed like a good idea, whoever had said it, so she did. She leaped as hard as she could backwards and up, over the railing and off of the boat, and she watched the boat move away towards the dock.

Jamie felt an incredible feeling of freedom. For the first time in months, she was not worried about learning or performing, or what she was missing from her memory and life. She felt the wind in her hair and across her skin. The Beretta in her hand was cool and hard; it's stainless finish reflecting points of light from the shore. The lights of the city were obscuring the stars with their glow, but it was beautiful in it's own way. She would have liked to see the stars, though.

The funny thing was that she could not hear any sounds. Everything was eerily silent, even though every part of her said that there must be sound. Maybe this was what impending death was like; a movie without sound and without song.

The boat had reached the dock and she knew that physics said that she should be approaching her own destination at the same time. She watched the boat slam bow-first into the dock and ramp upwards, disintegrating as it did so. Then she hit the water.

She had been traveling sideways as she was moving backwards, so her right arm hit the water first, spinning her over, and she slapped the water face first, continuing a tumble for a second before settling into the cold water. She was still conscience as she went completely under water near the dock then slammed into one of the pilings, finally coming to a stop after what seemed like an eternity.

Michael and Pietro Fermi had seen the gun battle between the two boats and rushed towards it in their boat, the motor roaring at full song, but they were not nearly as fast as the other two boats. Michael saw the man on the other boat open fire at Jamie and Gabrielli, then Jamie fired several burst from her rifle, then a blast at full-auto, the muzzle-brake flashing it's distinctive pattern. The enemy boat turned to avoid a collision, but then Jamie jumped off of her boat, firing while in the air in a move John Woo could only dream of having an actor do.

She had timed it right and landed on the deck, knocking the guy into the water, but she fell overboard and was being dragged as she held on.

Fermi turned to intercept, dodging a water-taxi, making it rock wildly in their wake and scaring the passengers. Jamie climbed back on the deck of the boat and fired her pistol, killing the pilot and sending the boat swerving towards a taxi-station.

They were still too far away to do anything but watch as she jumped from the boat only seconds before it crashed. She landed in the water hard and disappeared from sight only feet from one of the wooden pilings. He directed Fermi to steer there and he scanned the water around it for any signs that she was okay or unconscious.

The crowd's attention was mainly on the shattered wreckage of the other boat, and a few people looked at them as they approached, but none were interested as they maneuvered next to where Jamie disappeared.

"She's probably hurt or unconscious, Pietro. I'm going in after her." He stripped off his boots, vest, and shirt, and then dove in, feeling around the dark waters for her. The time in the pool haunted him and he worried whether she had sunk to the bottom with her gear on. The cyborgs could probably drown just like everyone else, so he had to find her fast.

She was floating under the dock they had tied up to, unconscious and unmoving, but face-up and taking her breaths from the space between the water and the wood. Michael pulled her from under it and dragged her back to the boat carefully, hoping for as little attention to them as possible.

Fermi was off and defusing the situation on the dock with the help of the local police, diverting most of the attention there, and Michael was able to make it to the boat unnoticed, lifting Jamie's waterlogged form onto the transom and pushing her the rest of the way into the boat by her feet. He pulled himself out and chilled immediately in the cool, night air. He was glad then that he had taken his shirt off, and though it soaked immediately after he put it on, it took most of the chill from the air for the moment. He turned his attention to the limp form beside him, noting a little blood on the deck from a cut on her head.

"Jamie... Jamie, wake up!" Michael patted her cheeks a few times, trying to rouse her. He had to know if she was okay or not. There was a medical kit under the pilot's station and in seconds he had it in his hands, ripping through its contents until her found a pack of smelling salts and a large bandage.

Jamie jolted when he touched the bandage to her wound and he was not sure what that meant, but she started mumbling immediately after, the words broken and barely audible. He strained to hear them over the noises around him.

"Please... please stop... hurt. Carol...Why?"

Michael could only guess that she was now dreaming about the horrible things that happened to her, but in her current state there was no telling for sure. He broke open the ammonia capsule and waved it under her nose. At first he started to wonder if they worked on the cyborgs, but she snapped awake after a moment more and moaned as the pain from her head hit her.

"Jamie, can you understand me?"

Her eyes looked around wildly, desperately searching for her bearings through the pain and haze in her mind.

"It's okay, Jamie. You're safe... I got you." Michael propped her up in his arms and hugged her, listening to her panicked breathing as she slowly started to calm down.

"I... I can't..."

"Shh... Just relax until you calm down. You hit your head, but there might be something else wrong somewhere."

"Michael..."

"That's right, it's me."

"Head hurts. I think I hit it. Can't remember."

"Don't worry about it, just stay awake and relax." He caught Fermi's attention with a wave and motioned him back to the boat. "Jamie, we're going to go get you some help, okay?"

"Don't leave me. I- I don't like to be alone." She sounded so pitiful to Michael, her voice small and weak.

"I'm not going to leave you. We're going to get Ferro and see what she recommends we do. It's just a boat trip down the river."

"I hate boats. They crash too much."

He started to relax as her sense of humor seemed to being returning. It had turned into a hell of a night, and the fatigue from the action was setting in, making him feel like he was the one about to pass out again.

"Fermi, get us back to Ferro. We may have to fly Jamie out if she's too bad."

"Right."

The boat started and they motored off, leaving the police to clean up their mess. It was only fair, Michael thought.

"What happened?" Ferro was in a better mood than Michael had expected, given how close the mission came to outright failure.

"She jumped ship and hit her head on the dock at high speed. I'm not sure what she's going to need."

"Did you kill them?"

"Oh..." Leave it to Ferro to be all business. "Jamie got them. The boat is in pieces on a sidewalk about a mile up the canal. One target is in the boat and the other is facedown in the canal.

"Good." Ferro looked at the barely conscious Jamie in the boat with a neutral expression. "If she's conscious she'll be okay. Michael, I want you to come here and look at something." She walked off towards the building, pointing one of the police lieutenants towards the boat that Michael had shot up.

"Don't leave me, Michael."

"I'm not going far, Jamie. Henrietta is over there, so I'll have her stay with you while I'm gone. It'll only be a few minutes." He squeezed her hand firmly, a silent promise to return quickly.

"Don't be long."

Michael found Jose and Henrietta next to Ferro, surveying the havoc they had unleashed.

"Jose? Can I borrow Henrietta to keep Jamie company while I'm not with her? She's pretty weak right now and she doesn't want to be alone."

"Sure. Henrietta, go out to the boat and keep Jamie awake and talking."

"Yes, Jose." She ran out to the boat, her P90 swinging on its sling as she moved.

"Come on." Ferro led the way through the warehouse where the grenade fragments had ripped open crates and spilled the contents, most being military issue hardware and supplies. Michael could not help but stare at the crate he and Ferro had used as concealment, the upper half destroyed at exactly the level where their heads had been a second before the blast.

"The damage to the building is extensive and widespread. Hopefully we won't get the bill for it." She led the way past several corpses to the conference room, itself a bloody mess. "Take a look at the colonel, Michael."

"Hm?" He stepped his way carefully across the room to the body by the window, examining the head wound without touching it. "Rifle round?" He looked up to see Ferro's nod, then over at the window, a large chunk removed from it's frame by an external force, entirely different from the grenade damage evident in the rest of the room. A closer look at the colonel showed wood fragments in and around the wound.

"Eight-hundred yards and she made a split second shot through a window into a silhouetted target head."

Michael had the sense that Ferro wanted to admit that she was impressed, but was not sure how to do it and save face at the same time.

"I may have underestimated her. There is an issue in the fact that she broke the plan to take the shot. We could have been attacked by the roof sentries because of her delay in taking them out. Then there are the issues with the cover story. It's hard to convince people he was killed in the assault by the captors when there's a rifle bullet in his skull."

"I'll discuss it with her tomorrow. For tonight, lets just be happy that we're all alive and the bad guys are not." Michael stood and stepped from the room, needing to get out into the fresh air, away from the smell of the blood.

Georgio and Alfonso were just arriving with their gear, ready to start on the spin story for the government report at Ferro's instruction. They had made good time by breaking almost every speed limit on the way.

"You're early." Ferro stepped over a corpse and made her way over to them. Michel thought it must be a joy to work under someone that never shows that she's satisfied.

"Yeah, well, we'd have been here sooner, but someone went and parked a boat on the sidewalk." Georgio surveyed the damaged interior of the building, scratching his head in wonder. "Must have been a hell of a fight. I'm sorry I missed it."

"It was tough. Now, here's what I want you to do..."

Michael did not stay to hear what she was planning, deciding to head out to the boat to check on Jamie. Jose followed along, looking as tired as Michael felt, deep in whatever his own thoughts were.

The girls were talking quietly while Fermi looked on with Elenora, who had arrived only minutes after they had.

"Jamie?"

She struggled to sit up and look at him. "Yes, Michael."

"Nice work tonight. I'm very proud of you." He climbed into the boat and sat down next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder appreciatively. She smiled at him and then laid back, her aching head feeling better when she did.

"Thanks... How many did I get?"

"Five. Your first shot took out the Colonel; Put a bullet and part of the window through his right eye."

"I knew I got him the moment the shot broke. It was like you said... I captured an image of the sight-picture in my head."

"Okay... Just relax and we'll get you back to the apartment to rest and get out of those wet clothes. Pietro, start it up."


	6. Chapter 14 to 15

Chapter 14

"How is she?" Jose glanced up from his laptop at Michael as he exited the apartment's bedroom.

"She'll be fine, I think. I called the tech team and they told me the same thing Ferro said; if she's talking, she'll be okay. I don't like the lack of certainty, though."

"They know their jobs, Michael, and the cyborgs are their art."

Michael poured himself some coffee and sat down at the table, watching the sunrise outside the window and realizing that he had not slept since the van ride to Venice, more than a day before. He suddenly felt exhausted, fatigue rippling through his muscles and clouding his mind. The coffee cup he had lifted to his lips was returned to the table unharmed; he had lost any will he'd had to drink it.

"You should get some sleep, you look like hell."

"I can't sleep on that couch. Ferro will kick me off of it when she gets here. That or she'll kill me in my sleep. I don't think she appreciated the way I acted the part of her loving husband this evening."

"Ouch..." Jose had been on the other side of the building from them and had not seen the way Michael had his arm around Ferro, but he knew she was not the touchy-feely type under any circumstances. "Well... Just share the room with Jamie, there's no harm in that."

"I don't think that would be appropriate." Michael disliked the idea the same way he hated to look at her in the nude. It just did not seem right in his mind.

"Listen, I'm not suggesting you strip down and work each other into a frenzy. That would just be...err... odd for a cyborg and handler. But thinking that there is anything sexual in sleeping next to each other while fully clothed is an American mindset, one that is simply not shared in Europe, or anywhere else, really."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you want to sleep, then go in and sleep in a real bed that is available. I have work to do here and you will not get any rest with the noise and light." Maybe it was his own fatigue, or maybe it was Jose's, but he sounded uncharacteristically impatient in his words, making up Michael's mind for him.

"Fine. I'm going to bed. Wake me up if anything important happens."

"It never does immediately after an action. Just lots and lots of paperwork to do."

Michael made his way quietly into the bedroom and pulled off his shirt and shoes, sitting carefully on the bed so as not to wake Jamie. She was curled up with her pillow, looking content despite the bandage wrapped round her head. He slid under the covers and turned his back to her, making an effort to keep his distance despite the inviting realm of warmth surrounding her.

It was not long before he started fading into the blackness of sleep, the last thoughts in his mind the vivid memory of that night's adventures.

And the faces of the people he had killed...

Michael woke from his dream panicking, his gasping breaths and sweaty skin attesting to the intensity of the nightmare he had endured. The covers were kicked to the bottom of the bed and he somehow had managed to steal Jamie's pillow from her, leaving her with just her arm to rest her head on.

As his mind cleared from the dream he could not help but gaze at the lithe, beautiful, and innocent woman beside him. If she were just some girl that was entirely unconnected to him, would he feel something more for who she had become?

The dream came back to him and he realized that Jamie was different from Tanya in a lot of ways, but so like her in others. It was the combinations of the similarities and differences that were causing him to want to be closer, but creating the doubts and uncomfortable feeling he had when he looked at her in an emotional way.

For the fiftieth time he told himself that she was a machine and her emotions were controlled by drugs and brainwashing. Her emotions, while largely her own, were influenced in many subtle ways by the Agency, and there was no real way that he knew of to tell the extent or differences of the influence.

But the emotions she displayed were sometimes aspects of the woman she used to be, parts that the Agency could not wipe or control. So what was the extent of her loyalty to him and what was he supposed to feel in regards to it? Was he treating her the way she needed to be successful and efficient? What if she loved him? If he shut the door entirely on her love, would she break?

He watched her sleep for several moments, still asking himself what he was supposed to do with someone who held him on such a high pedestal. Her face was only inches from his own, her features obscured by her hair and she looked so content in her sleep, with no trace of her nightmares that he could only assume were the result of her assault. He still had to watch the tape… to know what she suffered at their hands. It was his mission to make them suffer as much as she and her friends had that night, and this man 'Tommy' that Jamie had run into on the street was going to pay dearly once Michael found him. He had to find him before they left Venice because there was no telling where they would be sent next or where the scum would go in the meantime.

Michael reached out and moved the hair away from Jamie's eyes, brushing his thumb along her cheek. She was beautiful when she slept, and as his thumb crossed her cheek she sighed and sought his touch, slowly opening her eyes with a dreamy look.

"Mmm… Michael… Good morning." She closed her eyes again and buried her head in her arms, seeking refuge from his attempts to wake her. It was a long moment before her eyes snapped open wildly and she jolted upright, clutching the sheets to cover her body in her embarrassment.

"Wha- What are you doing in my bed?"

"I didn't have any other place to sleep, sorry." It might have been the fact that he was tired, but she seemed cute when she was embarrassed.

"But..." She looked around for her clothes but did not see them near the bed. Michael could see her insecurity and found it interesting in the same way that he had thought her lack of modesty interesting the night before while focusing on the job.

"Listen. We have work to do here before we leave. It's a continuation of my work in Prague, and I need your help."

At the mention of 'work', she changed, her body relaxed and Michael could almost see her mind click over to a more focused manner.

"Okay. I guess I'll get up if you need my help. I can't say no to you." Jamie flipped her remaining cover off of her and sat up, rubbing her eyes, then ran a hand through her hair, pulling the bandage from it as she did so.

"How do you feel?"

"Sweaty and hungry." Michael guessed that she was indeed okay and not suffering any problems from the previous night.

"Okay. Get a shower and we'll get breakfast. We need to act fast today if we're going to catch that guy."

She dropped the covers from her chest, stood, and looked around for her clothes, finally finding some clean ones beneath the pile of her old, moist ones. "What guy?"

"The one you bumped into yesterday. I believe he's one of the men I'm looking for and I need to speak with him at length about a few things." Michael found his clean khakis and a t-shirt, dressing casual for once. He would later change it up to more of a disguise, but for now he needed simple anonymity.

"I see." Her towel in hand, Jamie led the way out into the apartment, nodding at the assembled group there as she made her way to the bathroom.

Michael joined the adults at the table and continued trying to rub the fatigue from his face. Gabrielli slid a mug of coffee in front of him for which he gave her a grateful smile.

"So... What's the word?"

Ferro glanced up from her stack of papers, a small part of the intel they had gathered at the location. "We're still sifting through it, but I think we managed a decent bit of work with this one. Fermi is already out with Alfonso tracking down Section One's leak. We're returning to Rome this evening."

"I'd like to stay on an extra day if I could." The coffee was pretty good, the strength snapping him fully awake.

"Why?"

She glared at him with suspicion and Michael hoped that the extent of his work in Prague was still unknown to the agency.

"Well... I wanted to treat Jamie to a day of relaxation here before heading back to the mundane existence she leads in the compound. She's earned it and since her injury proved to be superficial, I figured now is as good a time as any."

"It'll have to wait. The chief wants us back this evening and we're going to have a full debrief tomorrow. And since you have had the most sleep, you get to drive."

And that was the end of an otherwise damn-fine plan.

"You take all of the fun out of life, Ferro."

"Good."

Michael leaned back in his chair and watched the boats in the canal pass by, sipping his coffee contently.

"I probably shouldn't warn you, but you're going to have an evaluation tomorrow."

"Hm?" He looked at Ferro who had put her papers down to speak to him, a sign that she was concerned about it.

"Jamie's defiance is going to come out in her after-action evaluation. Also, I reported her blackout yesterday before the two of you returned from shopping. The Chief is going to be ready to send her back to the lab."

His fist slammed down on the table and he got to his feet, working desperately to control his anger. "You did WHAT?"

Ferro was un-phased by his tone, having already predicted his actions and worked around them.

"Sit down, Michael, and let me explain." Something in her tone seemed almost apologetic towards him, enough so that he chose to sit and listen to her before deciding to do something drastic.

"Michael... I don't like you; I think that's plain for all to see. Your attitude, manners, and most of all, your sense of humor, grate on my nerves. How anyone like yourself has made it as far as you have is a mystery to me. Then there is the loose control you have over your cyborg, the way she's copying your carefree manners, and the backtalk. Quite honestly, I'm furious that someone like your self is part of our team. You're a danger to everyone you are around in that you simply cannot be predicted by either friend or foe."

Somehow her words hurt more in the way she was delivering them so dispassionately. He was entirely on the defensive, unable to really respond.

"That's just how I feel, take it as it is. What I saw last night was, after some reflection, the most justifiable Michael Christiansen I have seen. Your actions were the right ones when it counted, your aim was sharp, and your control over Jamie was everything the agency could ask, especially given that she was under your indirect control and operating on her own. Her decisions are not frivolous as I expected; in fact, she seems to think things through quite thoroughly. Her training seems to be adequate in the areas that matter and she has enough self-restraint to use it properly."

"So what are you trying to tell me here?" He could not understand why she had ratted him out before and was now heaping praise.

"Despite your personal flaws, you are an effective handler in your way, and my previous reports to Lorenzo do not have that understanding in them. What he's seen so far was an untested personal opinion of what I was seeing in you, and now that I've seen those qualities tested, I am going to have to explain to him that my observations were correct, but the conclusions I arrived at were wrong."

Michael could have died from shock. She was going to admit to her superior that she, the rock of discipline and professionalism, made a supposition based on personal feeling, a supposition that would have serious consequences for he and Jamie.

"Michael, they're going to insist she go back for a rework of her conditioning. You need to be prepared for that and have a good reason that she should be left alone. You know how Jean is, and up until now I have agreed with him, but I'm also one to believe in effectiveness over ideals."

"I see. What happens if they send her back?"

"Some memory loss, loss of skills she's acquired, and she'll come out sounding like the robot she initially was. At worst you'll be back at square one with a blank slate. The real loss will be for her in either case; she won't be the same. There is also a reduced life-span aspect of that."

His fists clenched at the thought of that; the forced removal of what made Jamie herself... Again. This time would be for simple expedience rather than survival.

"That's not acceptable."

"I know. That's why I told you." She took a sip of coffee from her cup and turned back to her papers.

"Why are you telling me this now?" He heard the shower cut off in the bathroom and knew they only had a minute to finish the conversation before Jamie would hear it.

"Because I don't want to see your efficient team ruined because of my lack of understanding. That and I am not the heartless bitch you make me out to be."

"Hm."

Jamie stepped from the bathroom in her street clothes and toweling her hair dry. She stopped at the looks that Michael and Ferro gave her, both reflecting a similar thought.

"Um... What's that look for?"

"Nothing, Jamie." Michael stepped over and took the towel from her, then started fluffing her hair playfully, her arms flailing wildly to fend him off.

"Cut it out!" She finally caught the edge of the towel and pulled it from his hands, flipping it around and going into a kung-fu stance. Michael stared at her for a second before breaking into laughter at the combination of her wild hair and fighting method.

"What is THAT?"

"Rope method."

"And where did you learn that, pray tell?"

"I've watched a few movies." She was smiling and showing him that she was just playing with him. She switched to a long-fist pose and then lost it, breaking out into laughter.

"Well, Jackie Chan you are not, so stick with the skills you were taught." He sat back down at the table while Jamie found herself a bowl of cereal.

"We're going back to Rome this evening, Jamie, so pack your gear up."

She sat down next to him with her bowl, munching on a spoonful already. She spoke with her mouth full, which made Ferro cringe at the lack of grace.

"Alfweady thun." She swallowed before continuing. "I only have a few clothes to pack in a bag and I'm ready. What about the time out on the town?" Her questioning glance showed that she was aware that she could not talk freely around Ferro.

"We'll have to do it another time, sorry. I've got to drive. We're also having a full debrief tomorrow morning, and you'll probably have a check-up because of that head injury."

"I hate those physicals. It's like they don't have anything better to do than poke me and ask stupid questions. 'Jamie, have you had any problems shooting? Jamie, can you tell me which picture is a square? Have you been upset lately?' Seriously, Michael, you'd think with their degrees they'd be able to come up with questions that would actually mean something."

"I'm sure they have their reasons, Jamie. Just make sure you cooperate fully so that they can clear you for duty. I can't do this job without you."

Jamie's eyes lit up at that and she smiled at him. All she wanted at times was to feel needed, especially by Michael.

The hall door opened and Jamie glanced that way in her guarded nature, relaxing again when Jose and Henrietta entered. Jose tossed a newspaper to Michael then went to the bedroom to get his bags.

"What's this?"

"Last night's action, according to the press. Good work, Ferro."

Ferro did not look up from her papers. "Thanks."

Michael read the headline aloud. "Army Colonel murdered during rescue attempt; Terrorists killed." He read through the body of it, catching every line that Ferro must have fed to the press. If you knew to look for them, they were pretty obvious. The ending left out any hint that an operative had been doing acrobatics between boats. After all, who would believe it?

"-The stand-off ended dramatically with a boat chase through the canals when terrorists attempted to escape. A back-up rescue team intercepted and killed the escapees, whose boat then crashed wildly into a taxi loading dock resulting in ten minor injuries to bystanders, but no deaths."

"Jamie?"

"Hm?" She was caught in the middle of drinking the milk from her cereal bowl.

"Excellent work last night. Next time, though, try not to endanger yourself as much."

"My own welfare is of less importance than accomplishing the mission."

Michael was about to say that it was not to him, but caught himself. Giving her conflicting instructions like that might be dangerous in time, and on further reflection he had to admit that he would probably do the same. A mission's success sometimes requires a sacrifice regardless of how well you plan.

"Just remember that you're important to me, Jamie. Don't be in a hurry to toss your life away."

She looked confused for a moment, but then smiled at him, even blushing slightly at the feelings he had revealed. "I'm not. I'll try to be more careful, Michael."

"The van is nearly ready," Jose said as he set his bags down by the door. "All the equipment is packed, so we're just waiting on you, Michael."

"I'll be ready in a few minutes. Let me hit the bathroom first." He patted Jamie on the shoulder as he passed on his way there which made her smile all the more. When the door was closed she looked at Ferro who had set her papers down to watch her with curiosity.

"What?"

"You like him so much that simple contact makes you smile?"

"Yeah. He's... The attention he gives me makes me feel good. He's so mysterious and cryptic sometimes, so when he opens up and shows me something from inside him, I feel happy to be included."

"Sounds like you've got a crush on him." Ferro finished her coffee and stood to get her bags from the bedroom.

"Maybe..."

The drive back was mainly in silence in deference to the sleeping trio in the back, and Jamie seemed content to watch the scenery pass by. Michael focused on the road but let his mind wander on the long stretches, thinking about how he was going to defend both himself and Jamie before the coming inquisition. He glanced up when Ferro shifted on the middle bench-seat, turning over and drifting back into a deep sleep. She looked very feminine at that moment, her vulnerability contrasting with her normal guarded state she lived in. What was she guarding herself from, he wondered.

Jamie watched him stare into the mirror at Ferro, wondering what might be wrong at first, but then understanding that it was the same way he looked at herself; a look seeking understanding of what he could see.

"Michael?"

"Hm?" He looked over at her, broken from the trance.

"Do you think it'd be a problem if I went swimming when we get back?"

"Probably not since it won't be _too_ late. Didn't you get your fill in that canal?"

"That water was nasty. Most of my time in the shower was getting rid of that smell. What is that, anyway?"

"Don't ask; you won't like the answer."

"Hmph." She could see the night clearly in her head, the way the boat was racing towards the dock and the feeling of falling into the black water. And that smell was something she could never forget.

He had focused on the road again so Jamie watched the sun as it slowly closed in on the horizon in the west, bringing forth the reds and oranges in the purpling sky.

"...Sailor's delight."

Michael's head snapped around, at the fragment of sentence, the last of a thought that Jamie had.

"What?"

"Hm? Oh, I was just thinking. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailors' delight. I can't figure out where I learned it, though."

"You probably just read it somewhere." 'Like in a girl-scout manual', he didn't say. Janet Wells had been a scout and was the likely source of that tidbit. It was relatively harmless for her, but somewhat concerning to him when added up with all of the other memories that seemed to be cropping up. He'd have to ask Belisario in the lab what such a breakdown of the memory wipe meant.

"Have you come up with my new lesson plans yet?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I have a few books I want you to read through during class, and we'll work on some of it in the afternoons." While the other girls studied literature and languages, he would have Jamie learning useful things, like improvised explosives and stealth infiltration techniques; things that she would need in time with this job.

"That one on lock picking was helpful. I can break into all of the practice locks you gave me."

"With your ears, we'll be looking into combination locks next. It should be a breeze for you."

"It sounds like fun." She smiled and turned back to the sunset.

The rest of the drive was broken only by the occasional topic that came to their minds, most of it business, which made Michael long for the quiet solitude of his room at the agency. Companionship was okay some of the time, but he really had to be alone on occasion so his mind could drop its guard. Alessandro had mentioned an apartment a few blocks over from his being up for rent. It might be a bit tight on his wallet alongside the payments on the Jag, but it would be a place where he'd have some semblance of privacy, a desperately needed item for his continued operations.

Ferro woke when the van turned into the road to the compound, the familiar bump on the road apparently alerting her.

"Are we there yet?" She rubbed her eyes and looked around, figuring it out quickly as her mind caught up with her eyes. "Oh, good."

"Go ahead and wake Jose."

Michael pulled up to the gate and flashed his badge at the new guard who checked it against his board.

"Have a good trip, sir?"

"Peachy. Did some shopping, took a swim in the canals, and killed a few bad guys. I'd give it a four for a vacation."

"Well, sir, have a nice night." He opened the gate and let them through.

Michael took a parking spot next to Jose's Porsche and climbed out, stretching his legs and working the kink from the long drive out of his back. Jamie took her bags and case when Jose handed it out to her and started walking towards the dorm, looking a little weary on her feet. He wondered if she was still planning on going swimming or not.

"Here..." Ferro handed him his bag and started walking off towards the handler dorm with her own suitcase and garment bag. Michael looked at Jose who was just closing the van up, deciding to let the rest of the unload wait until the next day.

"Long ride, huh?"

"Yes, it was. It was great to get some sleep, though. Thanks for driving, I probably could not have made it." He patted Henrietta on the head. "Go get cleaned up and get some rest. You have a long day tomorrow."

"Yes, Jose. Good night, Mr. Christiansen." She even yawned cutely, Michael noticed as she walked off with her case and bags.

"Good night, Henrietta." He slung his pack on his shoulder and hefted his rifle case. "This gun's heavy."

"You need to work out more." Jose led the way towards their rooms, waving at the security men in the office as they passed. "See you tomorrow morning, and good work in Venice. You're coming along well."

"Thanks." Michael trudged the last of the distance to his room and opened the door, feeling at least a little better to be 'home'. Everything he carried in went on the floor by the desk and in another minute he was sagging against his shower wall, letting the warm water carry his mind away.

"Jamie!" Maria threw down her book and rushed to the door to help her carry in her bags. "I thought I heard a van pull in."

"Hi, Maria."

"What is all of this?" She started digging through the shopping bags from Venice. "Clothes?"

"Yeah... Michael bought it all for me." Her rifle case went under her bed and she wrote a post-it note to clean it first thing in the morning.

"I'm jealous..." She stopped suddenly and sniffed a few times, unsure of what she was detecting. "What IS that?"

"What?" Jamie had just opened her dirty laundry bag.

"That smell..."

"Oh, that might be my clothes. Or me." She was embarrassed that she had not been able to clean them before coming back.

"Yes, but what is it?"

"I took a swim in the canals in Venice. That water is terrible and I couldn't get all of the smell off of me in the shower."

"Eew... Go do laundry or something, because there is no way that stuff is staying in here tonight with that smell."

Jamie could only shrug apologetically and comply with her roommate's request.

The laundry room was empty but a single laundry basket showed that someone had been thinking along the same lines as herself. The basket was the basic one the agency had purchased in bulk at one point, and the stack of whites in it awaiting their turn were slightly larger than her own size, she guessed at a glance. Her keen ears heard steps in the hall and she focused her attention on a sort of metallic rubbing sound made in rhythm with the footsteps. Try as she might, she could not place it until the subject stepped around the corner.

"A necklace... I should have known."

"What?" Priscilla walked to another washer and opened the fresh bottle of detergent she had retrieved from her car.

"I heard you approaching and your necklace was giving off a sound I couldn't figure out. I should have been able to given how many times I've heard it."

"Oh." Priscilla's hand went to the cross she wore. "I didn't realize it made so much noise." She dumped her clothes into the machine and started it, looking up in time to see Jamie start shoving her earplugs in to block out the sound. "Doesn't that get annoying?"

"What, this?" She felt better once the plugs were blocking out the blasting sound of the water being pumped into the washing machine. "It's bothersome, but worth everything I can hear when I need to. In a place where so many are the same, it's my one distinguishing trait... The thing that makes me special."

"There are a lot of things that make you special, Jamie. The other girls are the same; each trying to find their own way."

"Michael said that, too." Jamie put her clothes in a washer and started it, hoping the smell would just go away.

"Michael is a smart man. You could do worse for a handler."

"I know. Ferro doesn't seem to like him, though, and Je-"

"And Jean, I know... Jean doesn't like anyone." Priscilla sat in one of the chairs against the wall and folded her arms, closing her eyes as she told the story. "You missed it when Michael first started here, Jamie. Jean thought he only had an American on his hands. He thought Michael was simply someone who went his own way when it was beneficial to the cause. It didn't take too long for him to find out that Michael is the type that goes his own way regardless, a real pain in the behind."

"Michael isn't like that!"

"Yes he is; you just haven't seen the full force of it yet. Michael is unpredictable. It's one of his skills, and he knows how to use it. He's also extremely gifted at making something out of nothing when the odds are against him. Have you heard about the 'Prague Incident'?"

"No." Michael didn't talk much about his past to her.

"Well, the idiot heard that some agents were pinned down during a raid, so he jumps out of the car and rushes in head-long, killing as many of the bad guys as he could before taking several shots, one bad one to the shoulder. No one could have predicted that."

"I could. He's not the type to stand by and let people die. He hates when a life is wasted."

Jamie's words made Priscilla think about Michael's actions that she had seen first hand, the way he killed the people that the agency said must die. For those who had a fighting chance at him, he looked like he felt justified. For those who were simply in the way, he always had a sad look after the fact.

"Yeah... I guess he does, now that I think of it. He doesn't have the hate other handlers do, probably because he's not from here. He's a man that is driven, but by what?"

Jamie shrugged, not knowing the answer to that. Her own drives were a mystery to her. She got up in the morning, did what she was told, generally enjoyed life a bit when she could, and then went to bed hoping the day was fulfilled. A thought popped into her head and she spoke it before she really considered it.

"Do you like him, Priscilla?"

"Huh?"

"I mean...It's okay if you do, I just wondered whether you did or not." She stuck her foot in it now, and had to stick it out to the end.

"Do you mean like him? Or _like_ him?"

"Do you think he's the kind of man you would want to be with?"

"Michael?" She was tempted to laugh it off, but the look on Jamie's face made it clear that she was sounding her out, looking to see what competition there might be for her. Jamie had an interest in Michael, and Priscilla knew she was programmed that way. The interest, while largely benign at first, could sometimes develop into a chemically fueled love for the handler, something the lab took care to avoid now, but here was Jamie sounding her out.

Jealousy was dangerous, even with the safeguards the cyborgs had built in.

"Michael is a friend and coworker, that's all. I really don't think I could fall for a man who is so variable in his personality. When he first started, he tried chatting me up in his pathetic Italian. It didn't take him long to learn that I really wasn't interested, even when I said it in Italian. Some ideas are universal, I guess."

"Hm. I guess so."

The air seemed to cool back down as Jamie sat down on a crate to relax, leaning against the wall.

Priscilla decided to change the subject to the trip. "How did you like Venice?"

"It was okay. The food is good and the water stinks. Michael wants to take me back to see the sights for a day."

"And how did your mission go?"

"Oh, okay, I guess. I killed five of them, including the Colonel. Then I took a dip in the canal and hit my head. Michael pulled me out before I could drown."

"Sounds exciting. Did you do everything right?"

"Yeah. I worried about it before, but when the shooting started everything became clear and I just worked to make the shots." Her voice softened as she thought more about it. "I really didn't know it was so easy to kill people. You look at them through the sights of a gun and then just pull the trigger. The power over life and death has been handed to me and I wield it with skill, but I still don't understand anything about why I have it."

Priscilla had paled at the way she had said it since it brought up images from murder mysteries she had watched on TV. Some killers were like that, enjoying the power they held. Jamie was just a girl, one given a sickening but necessary task. The fact that she understood what the power was and how it could be used for evil, as well as good, was disturbing. The others seemed to be content to shoot at whatever their handlers pointed at. Was there a conscience seeping through the cracks in the conditioning, or was this simply searching for understanding in her self?

"The understanding is not important, Jamie. You just listen to Michael's orders and protect him."

"Hm. I guess so."

Jamie watched Priscilla as she fiddled with the cross on her necklace, some nervousness showing through her body language. What she had just said about understanding was, in her mind, a load of half-truths. Didn't they want her to develop into a functioning individual? Was not self-understanding a requisite of that? Why was it that Michael seemed to be the only person pushing her to achieve more than just skills? He certainly had the most to gain, but shouldn't Priscilla be encouraging her as well?

"Priscilla?"

The older woman looked up into the eyes of Jamie and found nothing. There was only a blank look, as if she were studying her, with no real focus to read from. "What is it?"

"I was wondering if I could see your cross for a moment."

"My cross?" Her hand was resting on it and she looked down at it for a moment before looking back up to a different look from Jamie, one of curiosity. "Um...Sure. Just be careful. It used to be my mother's.

"I will."

Priscilla handed it to her and Jamie held it carefully, feeling the warmth from Priscilla's body in the gold-plated metal. The chain was delicate and intrigued a part of her mind, but the crucifix quickly became her main focus as she turned it gently in her palm. Something in her mind struggled to escape the locked away portion that she knew existed, fighting through the fog. She strained to bring it up from the well, a light sweat breaking out on her forehead.

"...But... but that the world... through him... might be saved."

"Jamie..." Priscilla watched the internal struggle in Jamie's face, the fight to remember those few words from where ever they had come from.

The blue eyes opened again and seemed to lack the light they had before. There was a look of relief, but the confusion quickly overwhelmed it, followed by a look of despair at her lack of understanding. She handed the necklace back to Priscilla, walking towards the door, her voice emotionally dead.

"It doesn't mean anything to me. I fight for that little bit and it makes no sense at all. Who am I?"

Priscilla followed her to the door and watched as she walked towards the dining hall, wondering just what was going on inside the poor girl's head.

The fan felt good on his bare chest, the remaining water on his skin cooling with the extra airflow over him. Michael had pulled another diary from the stack and flipped through it casually, shifting every few moments to get comfortable with the still-present pain from the cut in his side. He suspected it might have become infected when he jumped in the canal despite the treating he had done afterwards. A small note next to the computer monitor waited to remind him to see the doctors about it.

The book was from a year before he met her, about the time of Janet's seventeenth birthday. He flipped through the pages to the evening of her birthday and started reading; looking for something he really was not sure existed.

"_Happy birthday to me! Another year and I can get out on my own to freedomsville. Carol and Angie both bought me that CD I've been wanting, so I'm going to have to take one back. They came over for the party and we had a great time. Mom and Dad stayed away for the most part, letting us enjoy ourselves as we pleased. We pigged out on cake and ice cream, and then I played a little music for them. Mom and Dad splurged and bought me an engraved decorative necklace. He picked it up while in Europe on his trip and it's apparently worth quite a bit since it's a limited run. I've never seen a cross like it before. The number is etched really small on the narrow side; Number: 316, isn't that great? I love it, and I'll never go out without it."_

That was what Michael was looking for. When he had found Janet's body, she was missing her belongings. The girls' purses and clothes were missing, along with any jewelry, but he remembered seeing the cross on her at the cafe, the light glinting off of it when she shifted in her chair.

"Okay... I have an additional starting point." Sick minds like the ones he was after tended to collect souvenirs, but there was a chance they might have hocked it, and that's what he was hoping for. There was one other source of information, one he had to summon up the courage for. There may be nothing helpful on it, but he could not be satisfied until he made sure. Even professionals make mistakes, after all.

His hand slid under the mattress and he pulled out the disk, feeling disgust at the very thought of watching it. The women in it were essentially dead souls, but the body and memories of one lived on, walking a path alongside his own. The idea of watching it felt like he himself was planning to assault her, to violate what it was that made her human, to remove that which he continues to fight for.

He clenched his fists out of frustration and rage at how cruel life could be. To save her, to save the essence of a young woman, he would have to get inside the heads of her attackers, to think like they do, to set aside a part of his own being so it might become like them. It was not that it was a huge leap of reason, because it was not. The blood on his hands from the years was considerable, even more so of late. What bothered him was that he knew he would not be able to look at her the same again, and that she would not see him in the same light.

What he was about to do for her would change them both. He had known that from the moment he pulled the trigger in Prague, from the look in the eyes of his victim. The monster he would have to become might consume him whole, and would probably take her with him. Wasn't that defeating the point of it all?

Exacting vengeance on this scale was tiring, the will to keep going being difficult to maintain for someone like himself, someone with a conscience. So why was he still forcing himself to do it? Why did he even start it? Truly he was lost in the forest that is vengeance, unable to see either the beginning or the end.

Michael pounded his head with both hands, letting out a frustrated yawp. Things in his head were out of sorts and he needed to get them back in order before he could proceed. Before he could go back to his journey, he had to draw out his route. On reflection he realized that he was wrong in winging it from the start. Certainly he had no information to start from, but the way he was going without any plan was what nearly doomed the endeavor from the start. Maybe that's why Tanya had been so concerned in Prague. She had seen the way he was working and knew he needed to have someone there to save him from his own lack of foresight.

"Ugh...You'd think this would be easy."

A gentle knock on the door broke his thoughts free from the spin they had been in. He made it there just as it was repeated, slowly opening it and finding Ferro on the other side.

"Hi, Ferro."

"Hello." She glanced at his heart-patterned boxers and rolled her eyes. "Please, put something on."

"We need to stop meeting like this?"

"Yes."

"Okay, one moment." He closed the door and returned a moment later wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt which got him a grateful look. "Please, come in."

"No, I don't think I will. I just came to give you this." She brought her left hand from behind her back, holding an old looking bottle of wine in it.

"Wine?"

"My grandfather gave me this years ago and told me to save it for a special occasion. I was planning on saving it for the day I get out of this business, but since then I've come to the conclusion that I'm probably not getting out. It might seem like I'm being overly dramatic, but that grenade had my name on it, and this is the only thing I could think of to show my gratitude to you for saving me."

"It's a '37, Ferro. I can't take this. I don't even know how to appreciate wine, and it would be wasted on me."

"It's yours regardless. Do what you will with it." She turned but he caught her arm before she could take a step.

"I have an idea, and you can opt out if you want, but I think it's something we can both benefit from."

"What?"

"Lets talk."

A few minutes of preparation found them sitting on the roof; Ferro with glasses in hand and Michael struggling with the bottle opener.

"Why am I up here with you again?"

"Because one of your chief complaints about me is how uncultured I am. You want to enjoy this wine and it breaks your heart to have to give it to me, uncultured and unappreciative as I am. I, for one, do not want to do an injustice to this bottle, which somehow survived the war, because I can appreciate art, music, literature, and the like, but know nothing about wines. So I'm offering you a chance to do a greater public service and teach me how to enjoy such a fine vintage... To impart some class to the barbarian, you might say."

"No ulterior motives?"

"I've never considered you to be the type to be interested." He finally managed to get the cork out and carefully poured a small amount into both glasses.

"I'm not, but that doesn't mean you could tell that. Americans can be thick-headed."

"It's part of our charm. Salute." He tipped his glass to her and sipped it, actually enjoying it's smooth flavor. "This is really good."

"It'll taste better when you start doing it right."

"What am I doing wrong. It's wine in a glass. Am I just supposed to inhale the vapors or something?"

Ferro sighed and started explaining the finer points of enjoying wines. Somewhere in their time together that night she started to enjoy herself in talking to him. He wasn't such a bad guy when you got to the less annoying parts of him. She was sure that someone would wonder what they were doing together on the dark roof, but if anyone decided to ask about it, she'd deny everything. Denial and misdirection was her job, after all.

Priscilla was gone when Jamie returned to the laundry room with a bottle of water from the kitchen. Her clothes were finished in the wash and she quickly loaded them into the dryer, taking a moment to enjoy the scent that had transferred to her hands from the dryer sheet. It was the same type that Michael used and she found a quiet comfort in it, closing her eyes and envisioning herself back in Venice when she had hugged him.

They had come a long way in the past couple of weeks; it seemed like months since he was the strict teacher she felt she had to listen to. Now he was someone she wanted to listen to, wanted to protect, and wanted to be near at all times. She would have to work hard to keep up with his expectations, but if it meant that he would look at her and smile, it was all worth it.

Her mind turned to the evaluation in the morning and the way that she always felt exhausted after them. Michael had said in the car that she was under the gun and that her condition and performance from this mission was going to decide whether she was held in for more training or if they would be let loose like the other fratellos, free to conduct operations on their own and investigate at will. It was important to him to get out from under the constant hand of the agency micromanagement. Just as Priscilla said, he was someone who was better off being given a job to do and then set loose to do it his way, and until he was allowed that, his real abilities were being suppressed causing him frustration.

Both their futures depended on how she had performed in Venice and how she was doing afterwards. She did not feel any different than before, except perhaps a little more liberated in her change from thinking of herself as an adult rather than just a girl. She understood that she had grown as an individual, as a thinking being, but would that show in the tests. Would the work that she and Michael had put forth be apparent enough that they would let them continue?

In the end, all she could do was try her best and hope it was enough to satisfy the people in the lab.

Chapter 15: Trials and Judges

Jamie awoke from her fitful sleep when Maria was getting dressed for breakfast and accidentally closed her dresser drawer too hard. It was not hard to do with Jamie as a roommate since she did not sleep with her earplugs in.

"Sorry, Jamie. I didn't mean to wake you." Maria gave her an apologetic look as she pulled her socks on.

"That's okay, I needed to get up anyway. What time is it?" She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on the clock across the room.

"Breakfast time!"

"You enjoy eating too much. If you're not careful you're going to get fat." It was a mean joke they liked to use on each other. Since their bodies did not process fat like a real one, none of the cyborgs actually had to worry about packing on pounds, but the emotional impact was still there, waiting to be used in a cruel and heartless manner.

"When you grow up on the streets and have to settle with scraps, you can enjoy a life that is plentiful. Hurry up and get dressed, before the bacon gets cold."

"Ugh..."

Breakfast was laid out as usual, though today was laden with extra fruits and vegetables; even the pancakes had fruit in them. Jamie settled on a bowl of mixed fruit to go with her eggs, sausage, and toast, while Maria heaped on the scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, four slices of butter-drenched toast, and large glass of milk.

They took a table next to the one where Henrietta, Claes, Angelica, and Triela were talking among themselves as they ate. The courtyard outside the windows was lit with the closing days of summer, the bright sun shining down invitingly.

"Hey, Jamie?" Henrietta leaned back in her chair to get her attention.

"Yes?"

"What time was the debriefing?"

"Eight-thirty, I think. I have to eat quick and get showered and changed."

"Oh, yeah."

"Say, Jamie, how did you like your first mission trip?" Triela was unhappy that she had not been along for it since it sounded like they had needed another team.

"It was okay. I'm getting used to it."

"Did you really shoot a guy while in the air between boats?"

"Yeah. It was a bit dumb now that I think about it, but at the time I was only focused on getting them." It was not a tactically smart move and she was sure to hear about it at some point, regardless of how well it turned out.

Triela smiled at her and then looked past Jamie at Maria and her heaping plate. "Maria! Save some food for the others!"

"Leave me alone... I'll eat however much I want." She stuck out her tongue at the younger girl before she crammed a slice of toast into her mouth.

"Why is it that older girls seem so less graceful?"

"What do you mean, Triela?" Angelica had been quietly watching everything happen around her.

"Look at them. Not one shred of poise or grace. Have you no dignity, woman?" This she directed mainly at Maria and in jest, but Jamie could not help but feel a little insulted by it.

Maria stopped forking the potatoes into her mouth long enough to think about the remarks. She spoke with her mouth half full of chewed potato, purposely to show she didn't care what others thought.

"Dignity in a sack is worth the sack." She got confused looks from the girls and a soft smile from Jamie, so evidently the younger ones needed to have it explained. She swallowed her food and made a show of daintily wiping her mouth with her napkin.

"I don't need dignity to kill people, and I don't need it to appreciate the finer things in life. When you start out with nothing, you quickly learn that such things as dignity are not necessary to survive. Maybe it makes peoples' opinion of you go up, but what is that really worth when you spend your day just trying to make it to sunset. I enjoy the things I have here any way that I want to because I know what it is like to not have the option of enjoying something. Picking through trash for the day's single meal means that you don't have the option of whether to enjoy it, no matter how slimy or furry it might be. Don't judge me by your standards because they don't apply to me."

The looks from the other table could have come from watching an airliner crash. A combination of shame, surprise, sadness, and disgust was carried across the gap between tables by the looks in their eyes. Jamie knew much of Maria's story because they were roommates, but the others did not, and the imagery that she had just laid upon them was a bit much for those who didn't know. What had started out as a joke had spiraled into an insult regardless of how benign it had seemed.

Triela frowned, regretting her careless choice of topic and words. "I'm sorry, Maria. I didn't mean that to come out in a mean way."

"Accepted." Maria crunched down on another piece of bacon to continue her meal.

Jamie looked between her friend and the other group, noting that Triela might have been expecting more in Maria's acknowledgement. It was just the way Maria was; she accepted things at face value. If you wronged her, then apologized, she accepted it and moved on. She didn't think of emotions in any real depth, she just let them be what they were rather than couching them behind a mask.

Everyone went back to their meal, but the conversation was decidedly less. Everyone kept to their own thoughts until Jamie realized that Petra was nowhere to be found.

"Speaking of poise and grace... Has anyone seen Petrushka?"

"She and Alessandro went out yesterday. I think she said they were going to Tuscany." Claes would be the one to know everything that went on in the compound.

"Tuscany?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." While it was normal for everyone to go their own way, it made for boring evenings. She would just have to come up with something interesting to do after her tests.

"Okay, Ferro. Go ahead and take the girls over to medical." Jean picked up the folders containing each operative's report on the Venice mission and stacked them together next to his overview report that Ferro had drafted. When the door was closed behind them he turned to Michael and Jose, watching them both for a few moments.

"Jose, good work running the show. I was concerned about how it was going to go with Section One's plan, but the changes made things go reasonably well, I see. Any problems regarding their cooperation?"

"None. Fermi and Gabrielli are smart enough to know how to cooperate without an agenda. I suspect their chief will be calling ours some time soon. If not, Lorenzo should call him and get a thanks."

"We can only hope. Michael, excellent work on your operational control of the mission."

"Thanks, but I really just said 'go' and let the lead fly. Ferro was good on the assault and Jose and Henrietta were right on-cue. It all came to a head pretty quick in the building. The rest was all Jamie on the boats."

"So it seems. What about her decision to break plan and fire on the window?"

"She saw what she believed to be the primary target and chose to cut the snake off at the head. From the ballistics report and her own admission she had fired as soon as the crosshairs were on target, so there was no compensation for gravity beyond what she had dialed in already. Her reaction time was incredible to pull that shot off clean that fast, and the only luck involved was in the way the bullet changed direction slightly as it passed through the window frame. Had she put it through the glass itself, it would have hit him between the eyes. The wooden frame pulled the bullet up and to the right enough to catch him as he was starting to pull back, resulting in the fatal wound he sustained."

"I see. Well, luck plays a good part of our game as well. What about her actions on the boat? Gabrielli filed her report first thing this morning. According to her, Jamie ordered her to hit the boat they were intercepting head on if possible. This would represent a serious breach of her standing orders to protect agency personnel, even if it _is_ Section One."

Michael wondered if he would notice that. "I noticed that myself when I spoke with Elenora, and I'm not sure exactly what to make of it. It could be that she figured ahead of time that there was little chance of the boats colliding and simply used it as a quick reference for Gabrielli to get the boat as close as possible. I suppose it is also possible that there might be a hole in her instructions that she slipped through in her excitement or focus in that moment. I don't have any more of an answer than that."

"Jose... Did you get any feeling that Jamie might endanger an operative?"

Jose glanced at Michael before answering; a look that Michael figured meant that he was covering a bit for him.

"No, Jean, but I did not really have any sight of her during the action. Otherwise she seemed fairly normal. At one point that morning, though, Fermi decided to test her like he did Rico."

"And?"

Michael spoke up this time. "She caught a matchbook and gave him a dirty look. When he commented on the fact that she didn't draw down on him, she told him that she had already evaluated him as not being any kind of threat at that moment."

"Meaning?"

"She had already determined at some point that he had thrown the matches with his gun hand, and that she could eliminate his threat before he could employ any weapon. Her reasoning was logical and pretty clear."

"Was that clear, Jose?"

"Yes, once she explained it. When she's around Michael and other people she's certainly in defense mode. It was difficult to tell at times with how casual she was about it, but she was definitely checking people out and evaluating their threat capabilities."

"Okay, so Jamie is functioning properly with our people, but not necessarily with other friendlies. The lab will have to look into that in detail." He made a few notes and Michael was certain that she was coming under a microscope. He probably was also.

"Now, as I understand it, the boats were closing head-on rapidly, the enemy started firing full-auto at Jamie, who had taken up position on the bow and exchanged fire in burst mode. Why wasn't she firing full-auto also? Michael?"

"Inexperience. She had never fired in that situation before and was defaulting to the 'conserve ammo' mentality that I taught her. Unless she has the experience to know to use full-auto in a situation, she will always conserve her ammo to prolong her fighting ability. Once she learned that the burst setting was a hindrance, she switched modes and reengaged. I will not fault her for that."

"Okay. That's something I can live with. Now, what about the jump?"

"The only thing I can think of is that she was excited and determined to fulfill the orders that they not be allowed to escape. She boarded the boat and killed both on board. I will tell her that her choice of actions was foolish and that she needs to better consider her position before taking risks like that."

"You're saying that her mission got the better of her?"

"The mission, and probably her zeal to do it. She enjoys the action and she's probably overcome by it at times. I'll start working on a training regimen to help her learn to avoid that."

"Hm." He made a couple more notes and then closed the book. "Okay, I think we're finished here. I'll report to Chief Lorenzo and we'll file this one away. Michael, report to Lorenzo's office at three this afternoon."

"Okay."

Jean motioned for Jose to follow and the brothers left the room together, leaving Michael sitting in silence and wondering how the hell he was going to keep Jamie safe from them.

Jamie was in a large room with silence as her only companion. The room was filled with small tables and chairs that were spaced even around a small stage at the front. It was not any club Jamie could relate to, but the atmosphere was familiar anyway. The ceiling was bare beams and ducting, exposed wiring and basic lighting done in a way that lends itself to the decor rather than detracting; it was supposed to look that way in order to give the place an clean-but-open and basic look.

The loud whirring of a machine startled her from the out of the silence and she spun around, catching sight of a counter that had not been there before. The blender continued it's high-pitched scream for a moment and then stopped, the contents draining from the pitcher even though it had not moved at all. It seemed to be draining from the bottom, which was odd for any blender she had ever seen, so she stepped closer to investigate. She rounded the corner of the counter, passing a commercial espresso machine. Jamie could see that the blender was normal and that the contents had simply disappeared into nothing, in fact the device looked like it had been cleaned.

"What is going on here?"

The steam valve on the espresso machine released and the sound was deafening, making her cover her ears and scream with fear as she backed away. Her back hit a wall, which seemed to make the other devices on the counter start and filled her head with a cacophony of sounds that deafened her despite covering her ears. The sound was only made worse when the machines started moving around on their own.

A soda machine started spraying its numerous dispensers while ice poured from it unceasingly. The blender started hopping around on the counter, it's lid popping on and off and slopping its contents on the counter. The steam jets mingled with the grinders and Jamie knew that she was going to go insane if the noise did not stop soon.

"Stop it! STOP!" She screamed as loud as she could but the sound continued unabated. She curled up in the corner with her knees hugged against her chest, holding her ears and crying, begging for the noise to stop.

"Please stop." Tears were flowing down her cheeks and her voice was a pathetic whimper. "Please..."

The room suddenly became silent again, as if in answer to her pleading. She looked up at the mess before her and continued to hold her ears, not trusting the machines to stay that way. Machines could not be trusted, especially ones that moved on their own.

She got to her feet and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, still watching the blender with suspicion. It mocked her, sitting there on the counter, perfectly still and silent, bathed in its own contents that were pooling on the counter.

Jamie carefully approached it, her breaths coming ragged and quick, her heart pounding in her chest. The blender remained unmoving, seemingly unaffected by her actions. She reached out her hand to touch it, snapping the lid back down on the pitcher. It started again, the lid popping off towards the ceiling, and spraying her with a deluge of chilled coffee as she screamed in absolute terror.

Somehow she managed to realize that the only way to stop it was to fight, and the realization freed her from the terror long enough for her to get both hands on the blender and dash it at the tile floor where it broke into pieces, finally ending the noise.

She was soaked to the bone with chilled coffee, her clothes sticking to her and her hair covering her right eye. She brushed it away and looked at the other machines on the counter with wide eyes, still afraid of their power. The only hope she had was that the machines had taken their foolish blender friend's fate to heart and would leave her the hell alone. Jamie carefully stepped through the slick concoction of ice, soda, coffee, and nut-filled brownies, making her way past the end of the counter and slowly backing towards the tables, never taking her eyes off of the cursed machines.

She bumped into something soft and spun around, recoiling in that now-familiar feeling of horror.

"Hello."

Jamie gasped for air, begging her heart to stop leaping out of her chest, though her mind was not doing too hot either. The person she bumped into was herself.

"Wha-" She was having a lot of trouble coping with this situation and she had to admit that she could not remember being as confused and scared as she was now.

"It looks like you spilled your drink." The 'Jamie' before her was gentle, almost perky, and it dawned on Jamie that she was even more different than just that. She was dressed in jeans and a blouse, but was more feminine than herself.

"I..." She could not form a complete thought; try as she might.

"Why not dry yourself off with your towel?"

"I- I don't have a towel." She was able to croak out the words, but she felt like she was being directed in what she was saying, as if it came from a script.

"Eh? You should always know where your towel is." She seemed to laugh at Jamie, but in a friendly, non-offensive manner. This girl before her was the nicest person she could ever meet. "Here, you can use mine. Just make sure you wash it before you bring it back, okay?"

Jamie accepted the pink and purple towel that was offered her which sent the other her into another warm smile.

"Thanks."

"It's no problem at all. I'm going to be starting in a few minutes, so why not have a seat and enjoy the show? I think you'll like it."

"Show?" Jamie started to ask for more clarification but the other her was already halfway to the stage. She wiped the towel across her face and over her head, and they were instantly clean and dry. It really should not make any sense, but somehow in this place it did. A minute more of rubbing the towel across her body and her clothes were entirely clean and dry, even having the fresh-laundry scent.

She could hear the murmur of an audience, but the chairs and the room were still empty. The girl started to tune her guitar, an Alvarez electric-acoustic with a deep red-oak color and a pale white strap. Jamie felt like she had seen the guitar before, but it looked nothing like the one Michael gave her, so she stood confused as the soft tones of the strings flowed through the room.

It was only a minute before the girl was finished and strummed a couple of experimental chords for a final check. She plugged in an amplifier cable and climbed onto a stool before a microphone, briefly checking the switch was on.

"Check, Check two. Who wants to hear some music tonight?" A gentle encouragement from the non-existent crowd answered and she smiled warmly, testing a few more chords and adjusting the pick-up controls on the guitar accordingly.

"This is a song from a small band I know personally. They're not together anymore, but the song is great. It really speaks from the heart and can lift you up when you're down. It's called 'Everything is Alright'."

She settled in and started strumming a gentle rhythm in G, developing a basis for the song by adding E, C, and D, the simplicity of the chords made wondrous by the transitions and flow.

Sleep shattered at a quarter to two,

Now I'm thinkin about the way I've lived my life for you.

The last couple of days I've been slidin downhill,

not even stoppin to look at Your will, no.

Wrapped up in my own selfish ways,

between You and me, there seems to be a haze.

Although I often become confused,

I always know that I can turn to you...

No matter how hard I try... I always turn to You and cry.

You're standing there with your arms open wide;

You tell me everything is going to be alright now.

Oooooh, Everything is alright,

Gonna help me lead my life,

Gonna be my guiding light now.

Oooooh, Everything is alright.

Gonna give this blind man sight,

And everything is gonna be alright now."

As the girl played into a relaxed instrumental of the chorus, Jamie could not help but be mesmerized by her voice, her music, and her body language. Everything about her was radiant, like a beacon of hope in the darkness, and something inside Jamie felt pulled to her.

The girl could barely see Jamie through the stage-lights that were glaring at her, but she nodded and smiled warmly at Jamie before starting the next verse.

"All day I try and look at you,

Some things get in my way, there's nothing I can do.

But I know You won't let 'em keep me down,

'cause you are God and in You comfort is found.

I know that you will always be there,

And I know that You will always care.

No matter how bad I mess up,

You're always there to pick me up.

And if I keep my eyes on you,

I know You'll show me what to do.

Broken hearted and on my knees,

You tell me keep my head up,

And press on please, well,

Oooooh, Everything is alright,

Gonna help me lead my life,

Gonna be my guiding light now.

Oooooh, Everything is alright.

Gonna give this blind man sight,

And everything is gonna be alright now."

Jamie found herself singing along softly with the chorus, even keeping in key with her double. It was as if she had sung that song before, so accurate her tones were to the singer's. The song reverberated in her head as the girl played through the chorus again before closing out the song to the applause of the increasingly mysterious, invisible crowd.

"A song like that is necessary to keep things in a positive light... To know that you're not alone." She looked right at Jamie, aiming her words for her alone. The stage-lights began a slow dim and Jamie felt like her insides were being drawn away from the stage, though her physical presence did not change.

"Wait! Please, who are you?"

"Me?" The musician looked slipped off of the stool and stepped to her, her eyes now sad and her skin deathly pale.

"Please tell me. I need to know." Jamie's voice became weak as her strength continued to leave her body. She fell to her knees and strained to hold onto the stage to stay upright, her tears pouring down her cheeks at the futile feeling she was suddenly overwhelmed with.

"You know me, silly..." The pale hand reached out and touched Jamie's forehead and her eyes were blinded by an intense white light; a light that made her eyes feel like they were being pressed into her skull.

" My name is J-"

She could not hear the name with the terrible screeching noise the white light was making in her head and she screamed out, begging for the sound to stop.

"Jamie!"

Jamie's eyes popped open at the sound of Michael's voice and she bolted upright on the exam table, but her body felt as if she had just run twenty miles. Her cheeks were streaked with her tears and she wiped at them with her hand while looking around for her bearings.

It was the exam room she had entered a little while earlier where Dr. Belisario and his assistants had run some basic tests and then put some kind of helmet on her. After that everything went blank until just now. She looked at Michael who started wiping her face with a cool, moist cloth.

"Michael." The relief in her voice was noticeable.

"Are you okay?"

"I-I think so. I had a dream, I think. I can't remember it at all, though; just like the others that I have. I get the feeling that it was important, though."

Michael finished wiping her face and brushed the stray hairs from her eyes, looking her directly in her own bright blue ones. "Jamie, if it's important to you, you'll remember it in time. It's not good to force it."

"I know. I'll be okay."

"Good. Get dressed and rest here for a few minutes until you feel up to it, and then I'll walk you back to the dorm. I have to speak with the doctor for a minute, okay?"

"Okay." Jamie forced a smile and started to get dressed. Michael followed Belisario into the observation room and leaned against the window frame, watching his cyborg with concern.

"Okay...What do you think?"

"I'm wondering what we screwed up to get that kind of result. It's definitely a breakdown of the memory wipe we gave her. From the readings we tracked, she probably has almost twelve percent back, maybe a bit more." Belisario was noticeably concerned as the brains were his dominion, and while none of their work was perfect, Jamie was not reacting within what they considered an acceptable limit for a cyborg less than a year old.

"How long before she remembers it all?"

"I don't know. Six months, six years. Who can say? It's not a consistent recovery curve. It's coming back to her in bits and pieces and she's slowly putting things together subconsciously. You've probably noticed that yourself."

"Yeah. Here's what I don't understand: She starting to piece it back together, but when she read the diary I have from her former life, even the name didn't ring a bell. She didn't know it at all. She thinks it's a childhood friend of mine or something."

"Memory is a tricky thing. We may have successfully wiped a few portions, but only scrambled the rest. Her intelligence could also have a part of what is going on. She's the smartest and most developed as far as the cyborg brains go, so there's a lot more neural pathways for the brain to utilize in moving information. We're going to have to look into what we can do to ensure a more reliable wipe."

"A hypothetical for you: What if I told her everything? If I just lay it all out for her to see, what would you say would be the outcome?" Michael needed to know, as he could not keep her dumb forever.

"Right now? I'd say she'd probably not react immediately. She'd take it in as information, but until her memories come back she might not know what to do with what you tell her. Her reaction to her own name and experiences shows that."

"What about longer term?"

"Who can say? The test showed her reaction to the encounter in Venice. You said she might have run into one of the people who assaulted her?"

"Yes, unless you can think of anything else that would make her be afraid like that." Jamie finished dressing and had settled back onto the exam table with a bored look.

"It's hard to be certain what it was. If it was such an encounter, it represents a possible weakness in her ability to act on her orders, something Jean is going to dislike. If the cyborg cannot follow orders in the face of danger, it's useless."

"The fact that she was able to continue in her defensive roll until the threat was gone works in her favor." Michael turned from the window and looked at Belisario, knowing the next minute was going to determine Jamie's future.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, or to not do it, but I need you on my side this afternoon. Jamie has developed into the vicious killer they want. There are moments that I wonder if there really is a young woman in that body. Hell, there are moments that she scares me. But around those spaces of cyborg lies the beating heart and churning mind of an intelligent woman, and no matter what anyone here says, I cannot forget that or just ignore it. She's survived a lot in her life; she's toughed through the bad spots mentally on her own and she has come out a stronger person each time. She's continued this as a cyborg despite everything she knows of herself being stolen away. Now that she is becoming something resembling whole again, people who barely know her will insist on taking it all away."

"Michael..."

"Damn it! I'm not going to allow that. I've seen her overcome her failings through her own inner-strength. I will not submit her to another mind-wipe or reconditioning when there's every chance she will be able to work through the problem on her own and come out stronger from it."

Belisario rubbed his face and wondered how much longer Michael would be able to rant. Given his schedule, he really could not wait for the end.

"Michael, stop and listen to me for a moment. I am a doer. If the boss says 'do it', I do. This does not mean that I agree with it. Now, I have the responsibility to give an unbiased report to the chief on Jamie's performance and I will. I also have the responsibility to make recommendations on how to deal with the issues, and I will. Jamie is not currently a threat to anyone but the bad guys that you tell her to go after. I see no real benefit that could be achieved from any rework on her at this time, and that is what is going to be in my report. But I cannot promise that she will not have any later, so understand that it is still a possibility."

Michael had watched the man's eyes and knew he was speaking the truth; he would back Jamie from a professional point of view for now. Michael could not ask for more than that, really. No one was going to go out on a limb for the odd man out.

"Okay... Listen, I didn't mean that you're not in tune with the girls. I just needed to know that someone is willing to listen to the handlers."

Belisario picked his clipboard off of the table where he had set it and started for his office door.

"You're a good person, Michael Christiansen, but your feelings are too close to her. On any given day she could die in the line of duty. It is her purpose to go into harm's way, and she might not come back. What will you do then? Think about that some." He entered his office and left Michael alone in the room.

"Too close?" He thought about that for a moment before looking back at the exam room. Jamie was there and was making faces at her reflection and trying to look through the mirror he was watching her through. "Close... I can't get any further away."

"Hm. That's your complete report?"

"Yes, Chief. I thought you might like an explanation for my error." Ferro stood rigid before Lorenzo, feeling the humility and guilt she had to endure for her mistaken conclusion regarding Jamie.

Lorenzo continued to look through the contents, nodding at times and remaining neutral in others. In between those he tapped the pen on the desk, which seemed out of character for him, at least to Ferro.

"What made you decide to amend your original findings?"

"I realized I was in error and that the findings could affect further development and operations.

"I see." He watched her for a long moment before finally closing the folder and pushing it aside. "Very well. I'll take your new information into account. Thank you for being professional enough to admit your mistake and offer up the corrections. Your integrity is one of the reasons I hired you, Ferro. Keep up the good work. Nice cover story in Venice, by the way."

"Thank you sir."

"Have Christiansen come in as you pass him."

"Yes, sir." Ferro closed the door behind her and leaned against it, suddenly realizing that she had actually been sweating during the meeting. Michael was watching her as soon as she stepped out and she glanced at him, deciding not to get him too hopeful about the situation.

"Michael, Chief Lorenzo will see you now."

"How did it go?"

"I never want to do that again." She started walking back to her own office and Michael watched her go, wondering just what chance he had if she had just come out looking like that.

Regardless of his fate, Michael had to face it like a man. He had to be sure of himself, have faith in Jamie, and make them see what he could.

He knocked twice on the door before entering, closed it carefully behind him, and then stepped to Lorenzo's desk with a practiced face of confidence despite the lack of it he felt inside.

"Good afternoon, Chief."

"Hello, Mr. Christiansen." Lorenzo turned a page in the report from Belisario, not bothering to look up at Michael who was waiting to be pointed towards the chair. Once it was obvious that it was not going to happen, he stood at attention as best he knew how. Lorenzo read the report for several minutes before looking up at the man before him.

"Good work in Venice. Ferro and Jose had high praise for how you managed, and I owe you a personal level of gratitude for protecting Ferro. She's one of the best people here and it would be hard to manage without her."

"It was my life as well, Chief. I just did what came naturally in protecting my own life."

"Modesty does not suit you, Michael. I think I'm starting to get a better understanding of how you work, and in spite of my occasional concern regarding your attitude I am starting to take a liking to you."

"I appreciate that, sir." He glanced around but did not see Jean and the oddity of that fact chilled him to the bone. Sudden changes in routine were often a harbinger of things to come.

"You are doing well in your work, so we'll push any further discussion about you to the side. My primary concern is for your cyborg. Ferro's first report said that she had become belligerent towards you at the start of your trip, and culminated with a "safety cut-out" several hours later. Later on in the morning she was back to her normal self in regards to you. Ferro could not adequately explain the sudden changes in personality, and Belisario evidently only had knowledge of the blackout, so I must ask you what was the cause of this failure in her behavior protocols."

"It was a misunderstanding on her part, sir. I discussed the matter with her and there will be no recurrence." Michael had to admit that Ferro really was on top of things if she had still been awake when Jamie went off on him.

"Would you elaborate?"

"I would rather not, sir, as the matter was regarding my private life."

Lorenzo tapped his pen rhythmically and stared at Michael's face as he decided whether to accept that or not. In the end it came down to the science.

"Mr. Christiansen, when a cyborg is being adversely affected by the handler, there are no private matters. I want to know what caused it."

"Sir. I believe it had to do with the programming that makes the cyborgs err...love... their handlers. She is certainly devoted to me, so when I went out of the country without her, and then came back with a woman's perfume on my jacket, she evidently began to think that I had left her here specifically to see a woman elsewhere. Her emotionally inexperienced mind, coupled with the loyalty programming, made her jealous and obstinate. She also decided to avoid discussing it with me to the point of forcing herself to disobey my direct command to discuss the matter, after which she blacked out."

"Hm. Did she physically attack you?"

"No, chief. It was only verbal. When she recovered she admitted that she had learned her lesson and would not disobey my order again. We discussed the matter at length and she realized her mistaken impression of the situation. Since then she has not shown any trace of disobedience at all."

"Is this something that you feel could be repeated on another occasion?"

"Sir, I'd be lying if I said no. She has an incredible sense of personal drive, and if she feels strongly enough about something, she will not be able to hold it in. I have no problem with this as long as it's done at the proper time and in a respectful way. She will tell me what she thinks, but I do not believe she is willing to go against my orders again. Whatever she felt during that blackout scared the hell out of her, and I don't believe she will ever forget it."

"I see. So your opinion of the situation is that the intensity of the loyalty could be an issue, at least in your case. This, coupled with her own emotional imagination, resulted in the problem."

"Yes sir." Michael was beginning to hope this was near the end.

"And you believe that the steps you have taken to correct her are sufficient to prevent a recurrence?"

"Yes."

Lorenzo stared at Michael and read the honesty in his face. Most of the handlers were protective of their cyborgs and you could really tell when they were serious about it. Michael was protecting her every way he could, and that included disciplining her when she erred, and enforcing the rules that were already in place. Almost ten seconds had passed while he was in thought and Michael was sweating from the intense appraisal being fired at him.

"Very well. Given that the occurrence did not affect the mission in any way, and that she performed admirably during it, I am going to file this one away as her testing the leash that restrains her. If there are any further serious and direct breaches of her orders, I will send her back to the lab for further conditioning to ensure that she does follow orders. Make sure she understands that."

"Yes, sir."

"As to her memory issues, Belisario believes it is too soon to make any determination on whether it is a large enough concern to expend time and money on. Keep an eye on her and report anything unusual to him immediately."

"Yes, Chief."

"Good. Dismissed, Michael. Go relax for a couple of days. We're going to have more missions soon."

"Thank you, sir."

Michael finally tracked Jamie down in the training pool, pulling herself along at her top speed. Her combination of lithe frame, light weight, and incredibly strong arms was more than sufficient to make good times, but it was her endurance with her large lungs that made such a huge difference. When she was fresh, she could cross most of the pool without taking a breath. With the exercising she had already completed, she was taking breaths only half as much as an Olympic swimmer. Michael had plans for this special ability though the details could wait a while longer.

He stepped to the pool's edge and walked around to meet up with her after she completed her last lap. As he watched her tear through the water he could see the determination in her eyes. She was fighting herself and her limitations, which was why she was training after the exhausting session in the medical lab.

Jamie approached the side and tapped the rim, pulling her head above the water and gasping for air, blinking the water from her eyes. She finally noticed Michael beside her and smiled at him as she slicked the water from her hair.

"Hi."

"Hi. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. I just finished fifty laps in various strokes." It wasn't as if the pool was Olympic size, but it was not a kiddie pool, either.

"Ready to get out?"

"Yeah." She took his offered hand and let him help her out. The room had started to chill and the large, dry towel was a welcome protector from the cool air. "I'm hungry, too."

"I think it's Chinese night in the commissary. How would you like to get some to-go and eat outside tonight?"

"I think I'd like that. Let me get changed and I'll meet you out front."

Michael did not have to wait long, but as long as he had been working with her, Jamie had never seemed like she took long to dress. Maybe waiting for her was not as annoying to him as it was for others. She emerged from the building in her exercise sweats and running shoes, and carrying her duffle bag with the wet clothes.

"Sorry to make you wait so long, but I needed to shower the chemicals off. The last time I went straight back without showering, poor Beatrice had to leave the room because of the chlorine smell."

"You're so considerate of others."

"I don't like to be a burden. I can take care of myself, so I like to help the others when I can." It was a long walk back to the dorms but neither really minded. Just being together was time well spent.

"That's admirable."

They walked in a synchronized step but not in any real hurry and despite the chill in the air, it was a very pleasant evening to be out for a walk. Jamie tuned out their steps and listened carefully to the environment around her. There were still some birds chirping away in the trees and the crickets were just starting their songs, and the rustling of the leaves as the gentle wind passed through them. She could even hear a car pulling into the gate at the far end of the compound, but just barely. The high-pitched engine sounded a bit like Alessandro's little compact car, but at this distance she could not be sure. Michael's voice beside her startled her out of her intensive study.

"You're distracted."

"No. I'm observing. I think Sandro just pulled in the front gate."

"Hm. You can hear that from way over here?"

"Yes, a little."

"I shudder to think of what else you can hear."

"It's really not as interesting as you might think. The other girls tend to stay up late talking about whatever and Maria is usually quietly reading a book."

Michael bent down and picked from the path a large stick that had withered and fallen off of a nearby tree. They walked a bit more in silence while his mind tried to read her mood. She had a confident smile on her face and she walked with her head held high.

"Are you happy here, Jamie?"

"Hm?" Her eyes were as bright as ever when she had finished thinking about it. "Yeah. It's not as if I know anything else, but I really can't complain. Besides, I get to spend so much time with you."

"Hm."

Jamie watched him for a moment to find the reasoning behind the question. He swung the stick a few times experimentally, but his own eyes focused ahead, as if looking into the depths of reason.

"Why do you ask? Are you happy here?" She received only a grunt and a smile that stemmed from the irony of the situation.

"No, I'm not." He did not offer an explanation and Jamie was not sure she should ask for one. Michael threw the stick away as they approached the courtyard and, just as she had said, Sandro and Petra were unloading their things from his car. Petra waved at Jamie and she rushed over to help them carry her things in, talking excitedly like high school girls do.

"Fun trip, Alessandro?" Michael did not offer to help carry anything; it just was not that kind of night.

"A blast. Old girlfriends, hit men, and RPG's... Everything I signed up for." He certainly was not thrilled with how things had gone, but Michael thought he could see something else in his face, something of the lighter side of life. "How was Venice?"

"Okay. A little exciting at times, but it went off without a hitch. Jamie did well enough, and I got to see Ferro in action."

"Is she any good?"

"She's okay. Nothing to get aroused by, but I'd let her cover my back." Michael watched Sandro as they walked towards the office block, finding an extremely pensive mood in his body language. He unconsciously pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the long drags seeming to settle his mind some.

"What is it about this place that interests you, Michael?"

"What?" It was such an odd question at that moment that he had trouble even starting to form an answer.

"For me it's a challenge; the chance to do work similar to before, and to teach Petrushka what I know. The additional combat element adds a bit of spice to it, of course, but it's mostly what I know that keeps me in it. What keeps you here?"

"I never really thought about it. It's a job, I guess. It was a god-send when it was offered, but now I'm stuck in it by knowing too much." He held the door for Sandro and then followed him to his office, taking note of the costumes and accessories he had collected there.

"Now you stay for Jamie?"

"Something like that. Is that so strange?"

"No." He gave Michael a long look-over, really feeling him out for the first time since they had met. "You're an interesting character, Michael. Do not change yourself at all." He had switched to English, surprising Michael with his comment.

"I'm glad someone thinks so. Most people around here think I'm an arrogant American who needs micromanaging to keep me from foolishly causing the end of Europe as we know it."

"You know, it would not surprise me if you did. Just try to leave me a piece of Monaco."

"Do you like the food there or something?" Maybe Sandro wasn't such a stuck-up after all. The thought of food triggered his memory and he put his hand to his head, feeling like an idiot. "Damn. I forgot that Jamie wanted to get dinner together. I have to go."


	7. Chapter 16 to 17

Chapter 16: Data Mining.

The night had turned bitterly cold as the sun set from the clear sky and Jamie found herself wishing that she was wearing something more than a wet-suit as she gazed at the fifteen foot wall that surrounded the target of the night.

The only way she had to approach it was from the river that wound its way through the countryside, passing within only fifty feet of the wall. Surprisingly, this avenue was not guarded significantly and she silently made her way across the gap unnoticed, using the distant landmarks she could see through her night-vision to triangulate the spot she had seen through her binoculars: a spot where several vehicles were parked, blocking the sightline from a guard-shack.

"Okay, I see you now." Michael's voice was a reassuring sound, something she needed at that moment. He was watching her from the overlook spot, more than a half-mile away on top of a three-story house. He had her rifle equipped with a night-scope with the highest magnification the armory had, and while she could trust his shooting, it was the short bit of time she'd had to sight the scope in that was giving her pause.

"I'm ready to scale the wall. Let me know when it's clear." She tested the swing of the rubber-coated grappling hook she held, waiting for his signal.

"Remember that we're going minimal radio when you get in."

"Yes, sir." It was the same procedure he used, the spotter asking questions and the single or double-click from the transmit button to respond.

"Stand by... The guard is heading towards the gate-house." She could almost hear him counting within his own head, waiting for the right moment. "He's inside. Door is closed. Go!"

Jamie's hand was already in motion and the hook arced up and over the edge of the wall, a muffled but resonate metallic sound making her wince as the hook slammed against the brick on the other side. She pulled on the knotted rope until the hook caught, then put all her weight on it slowly to test it. Satisfied with it, she pulled her knife from the sheath strapped on her leg and bit onto the back of the black, bead-blasted blade. Michael had taught her to be ready for anything, and the possibility of someone being close enough to the wall where Michael could not see them was high.

She jumped and started climbing the rope, the rough texture of the wall noticeable even through the semi-soled feet of the wetsuit. The climb was easy enough, though the glass and metal spikes at the top were a slight concern. She launched herself over and down the other side, dropping to the ground with a muffled thump and rolling to her feet, knife in hand and ready for any attack. Somewhere on the other side of the mansion she could hear the guard dogs yapping, apparently penned in due to the party the owner was having, something Jamie felt even more grateful for. Dogs were the one thing that she hoped she would not have to deal with as any trace of her scent or sound would set them barking, bringing more guards than she could deal with.

The expensive cars were parked neatly on the grass, the overflow from the drive attesting to the size of the gala event. There were risks in digging for intelligence during such a large gathering, but also a good bit of anonymity and a serious reduction of security, two things that worked for her once she was in.

"The guard is moving towards the west end, move now."

She tapped two clicks and darted across the darkest part of the drive to the bushes beside the house, a large hibiscus concealing her well enough from the possible view. The knife went back into the sheath and she crawled her way along the foundation until she found a low window that entered into a dark room.

"Guard's coming back, hold your position."

The guard passed close by her position, his feet silent on the grass beside the flowerbed. A breeze kicked up and she started breathing again as the leaves made enough noise to cover it. She shivered again as her body felt a chill from the wind and she promised herself a hot bath when the job was finished, hoping the thought would calm her body.

A Zippo lighter was opened and the flame was bright in her night vision, blinding her momentarily. The guard lit his cigarette and continued on his way back to the guard post, leaving Jamie to continue her work.

"Good work, Jamie. Now work your way in, the alarm system for the house is on stand-by. Really, someone needs to update to one which the rooms aren't all tied together."

A pair of clicks acknowledged and she slipped her jemmy between the windows, slipping the ancient lock to the side and carefully sliding the window up. She was inside in an instant and the window closed and locked, her entrance entirely unnoticed by anyone.

"Good. You're in, and no sign of alarm yet. Which room are you in?"

She could plainly see that it was a servant's room of some kind, the plain bedding and cheap perfume suggesting the maid, or maids, judging from the two vastly different size of dresses hanging in the open closet.

"Maid's quarters." Her voice was barely a whisper as she keyed the radio.

"Okay... There's a stairway in the hall outside the door. It's the back stair to the second floor and the target office is the third door on the right. There's a bathroom on the left, halfway down. Move at your discretion."

Another two taps and she stepped into the darkest part of the room, pulling open her small backpack. She peeled her wetsuit off and toweled dry with one she pulled from a drawer, then picked the smaller maid dress, which slipped on easily and left enough room for her small waist-pack with her gear. The shoes were slightly too big, but when you're borrowing clothes, you can't really be picky.

"What are you planning?"

"I'm blending in. These maid outfits are cute. Will you buy me one?"

"Stick to the mission, Jamie. The longer you're in that disguise, the better the chance you'll be discovered."

"Right. You're no fun." She smoothed her stockings and pulled off her goggles, stashing them and the rest of her gear under a bed near the window she came in. "Okay, I'm going off-radio until I get to the computer. Wish me luck."

"Be careful."

She pulled out the earpiece and tucked it inside the collar of the outfit, then carefully listened at the door, slowly opening it to find an empty hall and the stairs Michael had mentioned nearby. The music drifted down the hall from the ballroom and she could see workers in the kitchen at the far end of the hall. She hoped the maids were somewhere down that direction and that the rest of the staff wouldn't second-guess another one being around.

Jamie crossed the hall to the staircase and stepped up it as quietly as was possible in the flat shoes, their sound seeming to echo as she made her way up to the second floor. She inched up the last few steps, watching and listening for any sign that someone might be in the hall or the nearby rooms, but there was only silence. The target door was in sight, just as Michael had said, but the other set of stairs was around a corner at the far end of the long hall and was a dangerous blind spot for her. It was going to take her a minute or two to pick the locks and if anyone came around that corner, she would be fully exposed and without an explanation.

She approached the door as quietly as the saddle shoes would allow, trying to focus her hearing past their sound and towards the far end of the hall. The only sound was the muffled tones of the music and her own breathing as she stepped to the door and started examining the lockset. It was almost brand new with only a few scratches on its face, the matte brass and stainless steel looking extremely intimidating for someone of her skill level. Maybe Michael would not have felt as such, but she was still gaining experience in picking locks and such a lock, while within her technical knowledge, was above her practical experience level.

"Okay..." She knelt in front of the door and slipped her hand under her skirt, digging in her waist pack for her pack of lock picks, looking around guiltily for signs that anyone might see her. She selected her best picks and started working, glad that the lock seemed to be in good shape and made little noise as she carefully worked it. It was difficult and she was ever more aware that time was ticking away against her, as any moment could be the one in which someone spots her and give the alarm.

Despite the pressures she was able to remain calm, drawing on her reserves of patience and self-control that served her so well as a sniper. The comparison was close enough to make her smile unconsciously to herself as the third tumbler slipped into position, just as the two minute mark passed. The fourth had no sooner clicked than she heard loud steps from the far end of the hall, sending her mind into an uncontrolled frenzy. She had one more tumbler left to work but had to hide. If she pulled the picks out, she would lose all that time and work, but if she left them, they might be spotted.

Her time was out as the steps approached the turn in the corridor and she made up her mind, leaving the picks and dashing across the hall to the bathroom, swinging the door open wide, and crossing the room to the closet. Inside she found the supplies she was hoping for and, taking the largest gamble of her life so far, sprayed cleaner all over the nearby commode and started wiping it at with a rag, mumbling epithets in Italian.

The guard glanced in at her, curious as to what was happening and completely missing the fact that two small pieces of metal were sticking out of the lock on the door across the hall, the one thing Jamie could hope would happen.

The guard gazed at the maid, hearing the occasional harsh word amidst the mumbles and figuring that some guest had decided to use this bathroom during the evening and had made a mess. Rich people could be so inconsiderate, especially when they had hired people to clean up after them.

The maid was bent completely over as she scrubbed and the only glimpse of her he had was of short, dark-brown hair and the even more enticing behind below it. He had only started on this job the week before and the few times he had seen the younger maid, he had liked what he had seen. He made a mental note to chat her up later and proceeded on his rounds, dreaming of that fine backside.

Jamie continued her act until she heard his steps fade away, and then wiped the sweat from her forehead. It was close, and were it not for her enticing features, she would probably have been caught. Men could be so predictable sometimes; Show them what they like to see and they miss everything else, no matter how obvious.

She put the things away and stepped back into the hall, listening for a moment, then went back to work on the lock, finishing the last tumbler off and opening the door quietly, looking about the room that was lit by the single desk-lamp.

The computer was on, she could see as she rounded the corner of the large oak desk, and papers were scattered around in a semi-organized way, much the same as Michael tended to do with his own desk. At a glance she could tell they were distribution routes and figures, nothing she was interested in, at least not as much as the computer. She pulled a flash drive from under her skirt and plugged it in to the front USB port. A single click at a prompt and the program started searching for every file the intelligence people considered worth viewing, then copied it to the drive's own storage.

It was taking forever and she wondered just how much information was on the computer's drives and whether the small flash card was able to store everything it found. The thought made her realize that she had not checked in with Michael in quite a while, and that he must be worried. She pulled the earpiece from her collar and put it back in, then flipped the radio back on.

"Michael, I'm in and proceeding with the data retrieval." There was only silence and she caught the confused and concerned look on her own face in her reflection off of the polished brass lamp hood.

"Michael, respond." Another ten seconds of waiting passed and she suddenly felt entirely alone in the world, alone facing the dangers that surrounded her. The program indicated several more minutes, minutes she was now starting to wonder if she could withstand with the turmoil inside her mind.

"Please, Michael," her voice was pleading in a whisper, the fear starting to creep in now. "Please respond."

Her breathing was faster and her heart pounded, the analytical part of her mind classifying it as the onset of an anxiety attack in its detached way. It was this that saved her, the knowledge of what was happening and how to slow or temporarily halt it, and she took a few deep, controlled breaths, feeling her body shudder and her nerves calm slightly as she cleared her mind, a sign of some success.

The computer was nearly finished when she heard a yell and the sounds of many feet on the wooden steps in the hall. Someone...No, many people, were coming up the stairs, coming for her. She was able to pick out an order to search every room and she knew she was in trouble.

The fear returned, but strangely the anxiety did not, and she glanced around quickly and selected her hiding place just as the drive finished its copy. She yanked it out and dashed silently towards the walk-in closet, tore it open, and glanced at the contents, then tucked herself into the deepest, darkest corner of it behind a pair of steamer trunks that she pulled out enough to squeeze behind. She was contorted awkwardly and her body immediately started to file a complaint with her mind, sending aches and pains, and the desire to move, to her brain. Through her determination she was able to force this aside and focus on her situation to try to think of a way out of it.

The sounds of the pursuers was audible through the wall she was crammed against, their voices muffled unless someone yelled. She could feel the thumps of doors opening and closing and from the frequency of them, the search was being conducted quickly and with haste, possibly the only chance she had. If they were not taking their time, they might not find her.

The door to the office opened and several sets of footsteps entered, the sound of furniture being moved. There was an exclamation in Italian as the computer was examined. She hadn't had time to clear off the prompt from the transfer program and it would be obvious to everyone what had happened. There would be a renewed effort in the search with such important information being stolen. Even her limited knowledge of the targets allowed her to realize that if found, she would not survive it.

A man was close to the closet and she heard him say he was going to search it. The door opened and the light turned on, and despite her concealment she felt as if she were standing naked in Saint Peter's Square during morning mass. She could hear him step closer and the rustling of boxes and clothes indicated that he was actually searching thoroughly. On reflection, she had to admit that the closet had been the obvious place to hide and that hoping to remain unseen was wishful thinking on her part. It might have been better to fight her way out.

Jamie's arms were pinned in and she could not reach her pack to get to her knife, the only real weapon at her disposal. She had faith in what unarmed combat she knew but going into any situation at a disadvantage was making a bad situation worse. Even worse, she would have to take several seconds to extract herself and prepare to confront a target she could not see from her position, valuable time in which she was vulnerable to any number of attacks.

The steps came closer and she held her breath, continuing to hope he would be called away or just miss her altogether. The man stopped only feet away and his shadow fell on the trunks and the sound of a soft, sadistic laugh met her ears... The gig was up.

From somewhere in the hallway came a yell of "fire" and the man grunted and turned, stepping quickly from the closet. Jamie started breathing again after the latch clicked, calming herself again and wondering how Michael had been able to make a career from this kind of thing. She pulled herself out and stepped to the door, listening carefully for any sign of someone still in the office. All was silent and she cracked open the door, peering out and around it, finding only an empty room. She could hear panicked yells echoing up the stairs into the hall and she wondered just how bad the fire was, but was appreciative of how convenient it was. She would be able to make her escape, or it would at least be a little easier with the confusion.

The hall was also empty and she took the moment to run to the back stairs and down into the smoke-filled hallway, crossing into the maid's room with only a quick look back to see the people fighting the massive flames visible through the kitchen doorway.

The door had just clicked shut when arms wrapped around her from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling the startled gasp that burst out. Her attacker was not nearly as strong as her and she broke his hold, grabbing his arm and flipping him over her shoulder onto a bed, hearing the satisfying sound of splintering wood as the weight broke all of the bed's support planks at once. Her arm rose to strike, her fingers dagger-like points aimed at ripping her opponent's throat out, her eyes and veins burning with anger at the way she had been attacked.

"Jamie..."

Jamie gasped and lowered her arm, nearly panicking as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and the slowly moving form of Michael that was draped across the broken bed.

"Oh my God, Michael!" She moved to his side, her hands pressing against his sides, looking for broken bones or other trauma, her mind searching for anything she could do to fix him.

"Ugh... I'm glad there was a bed here." He pushed her away and sat up slowly, feeling a twinge in his back but otherwise able to move.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know. I thought you were a guard."

"I'm glad I'm not, believe me. Listen, that fire won't take them too long once they get the gas turned off, so we need to get the hell out of here. Grab your things and let's go."

"Are you sure you're okay? You're not hurt?"

She was acting like a paranoid mother and he pushed her hands away forcefully, glaring at her in annoyance.

"Jamie, right now I would feel like escaping this place on no legs if I had to, so lets worry about me later." He stood up and stepped to the window, glancing out to find the guards and dog locations and glad they were largely at the front of the property or inside with the fire. Jamie dug her pack from under the crushed bed and joined him as he carefully slid out the window into the bushes. The lawn was clear to the area by the cars and he darted across, ignoring the jabs of pain from his back, and found a spot between two cars where he could watch the assembled throng on the front lawn. He motioned Jamie over and she sprinted across as fast as she could with the hampering the length of the maid dress caused.

"My rope is back by that tree there, Jamie. They found yours and sounded the alarm..."

Her focus on their escape broke with that knowledge. She had made a massive mistake and had not noticed it, a mistake that nearly cost her life. Michael did not want her to dwell on it then so he pushed her towards the tree and followed, crouching in the cover of the cars and shadows. They made it to the rope and he tried to climb first, but the pain in his back left him no real strength in his left arm.

"Shit... You're going to have to help me. I think I pulled something in my back."

"Alright. Climb on my back."

"What?" She was serious, he could tell, her eyes serious and determined.

"Just wrap your arms around my neck and hang on." She hoped the rope's strength rating was enough for the both of them. "Ready?"

He did as she asked and wrapped his arms around her neck, being careful not to choke her. She strained under his weight as she started to climb and he wondered if she could really do it. Her grunts and gasps told of the struggle and attested to her endurance as she slowly worked her way up, refusing to stop for fear of failing altogether.

"They've loosed the hounds." Michael watched the dogs pick up their scent at the house and start tracking across the lawn.

Jamie screamed with her effort as she pulled the last couple of feet to the top, her voice sounding across the yard and encouraging the dogs. Michael grabbed the top with his good arm and took part of his weight off her back, which was a relief to her as she pulled herself over and dropped down to the other side without the rope. Michael slid down the rope and popped it loose with a flick of his arm, then dodged the hook as it landed with a metallic clank.

"Car's that way. We'll have to swim for it." He led the way towards a spot by the river where he had stuck a glow-stick in the ground, a point marking where a strong swimmer could start and use the current to end up almost exactly at the car.

"It's cold in there." The baying of the hounds on their track gave her a new enthusiasm for the idea and she secured her belt-pack in the waterproof backpack and closed it, then ran for the water and dove in, swimming for all she was worth. Michael followed close behind and was immediately assaulted by the cold water and renewed pain in his back, but pushed on through the slow current, landing only twenty yards further downstream from the car than he had hoped. Jamie had tracked him after she made the shore and was there to help him out and lead him to the car.

"You drive, I need to warm up." He climbed in the passenger side and put the keys in the ignition for her.

"I've never driven your car!"

"Now's not the time to worry about the details. It has four wheels, an engine, and a steering wheel... It's the same as the ones you learned on at the agency, so drive already." His teeth were starting to chatter and added to his frustration that he worked to persevere through with pure grit.

Jamie started the car and steered down the strip of grass along the river that Michael had followed to position the car, trusting in her night-vision gear to pick out the path without the aid of the headlights. A bump marked the edge of the road and she turned hard, flooring it and settling the car in at a speed she was not accustomed to.

After a mile she dared to turn on the headlights and pulled the goggles from her soaked head, then checked on Michael who was holding his hands over the heater vent and had wrapped a towel around his head. He looked over at her and finally let his disappointment in her show, his eyes angry and aimed at her.

"I'm sorry, Michael."

"Now's not the time, at least not while you're driving. We'll discuss this at length at the apartment." His decision held them both in silence for many minutes and Jamie was afraid to speak again until her adrenaline finally wore off and she started to feel the night's adventure in her body. She started to shiver in waves every few minutes and was able to pass it off until it started in earnest and refused to stop.

"I'm cold and wet."

Michael looked at her in her soaking wet maid's dress and damp hair, looking for all the world like she just stepped out of the rainstorm in a movie. He felt for her and handed over his own towel, which she quickly draped over her head to retain some warmth. A redirection of the air vents and their life-giving warmth helped a bit more and by the time they made it to Rome, she had stopped shivering.

"Park over there." He pointed to a spot next to his apartment doorway and she maneuvered in perfectly between the cars next to it. She silenced the car and sat still as she wondered just how angry he was at her. It had not been important enough to think about as she drove, but now that she had time and attention to devote, she could not help but worry.

"Come on and help me out, Jamie. I think I screwed my back up worse than I thought."

"Yes!" He had not sounded angry as he spoke and that moment buoyed her spirits. She had his door open in a moment and gently helped him out, worrying as he staggered towards the apartment while hunched over. His grimaces of pain hurt her heart, but the knowledge that she had done it made it so much worse, a sinking feeling in her stomach making her break out in a sweat despite her body feeling chilled to the bones.

Michael felt like an old man with the way he was forced to make his way up the stairs, one step at a time and a short pause every few. After a seeming eternity they finally made it to his door which Jamie unlocked and flicked on the light, then closed and locked the door behind them as Michael hobbled to his bathroom.

"I'm going to shower and warm up. Can you get me my night clothes off of the bed and leave them inside the bathroom door?"

"Yes, Michael." His robe and boxers were on the bed where he had placed them and as she picked up the robe she smelled his aftershave on it. It was an inviting scent for her, her brain telling her it was Michael and that she was safe while he was around. The soft material warmed her chilled hands and she held the robe to her cheek, closing her eyes and wishing it would envelope her in it.

The sound of the shower running brought her back and she hurried to the bathroom, carefully opening the door and stepping inside once she saw that he was hidden from sight by the shower curtain.

"You're becoming bolder in your mounting experience."

"I'm learning that some things are worth experiencing. Risky actions bring rich rewards." She moved a towel to the hook beside the shower and put his wet clothes into the sink to drain, then turned to wipe up the water from the floor.

"Or arduous sacrifice... You want to watch me shower?" He was standing in the hot stream with the head turned to its massage setting, directing it on the painful spot in his back.

"I want to be here to help you as you need it."

He could hear the longing in her voice, the sheer desire to do something to help him, to ease his pain. He could no longer convince himself that she saw him as only a teacher or brother. Her voice was one of love for him, a love that he simply could not return.

"I don't need your help, Jamie. You can take a shower after I'm done."

He delivered this with the frustration the night had brought on and her silence showed that she was thinking about his words and trying hard to move her thoughts through the maze of her own emotions.

"But..." She started to protest and to convince him of her sincerity, but she realized that he understood all of that and still did not want her help. His own anger and frustrations were not quelled by her concern for him and her only course was to let him work it out. "Okay, Michael. I'll be in the living room if you need me."

He did not answer her and the silence between them began to feel like a brick wall, one she simply could not scale. She made her way into the kitchen and put the coffee maker on, adding Michael's preferred number of scoops and the chilled, filtered water from the jug in the refrigerator. Her motions were almost automatic, having done it so many times at his desk at the agency, and she had the first thoughts about why she did the things she did for him. She felt it was out of devotion, and perhaps even love, but something in her personality refused to even protest having to do it. She _wanted_ to do it. She _wanted_ to be close to him, and she _wanted_ him to smile at her.

"But why? Why am I so needing to do these things?"

Jamie understood her conditioning in its base form. She had to listen to what he said, take his orders, and protect him at all costs. The penalty for refusing was unpleasant and unbearable, she felt, and what would happen to her should she ever intentionally harm him was beyond her ability to imagine. Even the idea of thinking about the scenario made her feel ill. Her actions that night were not out of malice, but confusion, and her mind was obviously not punishing her for hurting him accidentally. These things were what she understood about the way the agency controlled and limited her.

But why does she _feel_ like she loves him, even when it is obvious he refuses to see her in the same emotional light? The agency added something to her that makes her revere him; to place him on a pedestal towards which she could look up to him. This has, as in some other cyborgs, resulted in a feeling of love for the handler. But even assuming that they all receive the same level of devotion towards their handlers at their start, why do some love and some simply respect?

It comes down to the way the handler returns that attention. So if she felt love for Michael, didn't that mean that he loved her in some way; a way that was not so dissimilar from her own?

The coffee was ready and she poured herself a cup, taking it black and pulling a small box of cookies from the cupboard as she went to the couch. The hot liquid helped warm her and the cookies were a needed respite from her shaken nerves, the feeling of fear and shame that her mission failure left with her.

Things had been going really well recently, and except for a few days of feeling down after Michael moved out of the agency and into this apartment, she had been focused and functioning perfectly in her work. What had caused her to make that mistake tonight? She had thought of everything, practiced most of it, and had pulled it off with skill only Michael could match. So why had she forgotten that rope?

He came out of the bathroom a bit more upright, but still limping slowly. He paused at the door to his bedroom and looked at her for a full minute, gauging what he saw in her, what he had expected of her, and what he should expect. He really had brought her along too quickly, partly from necessity, but mostly because he was foolish. She had limitations, and just like the months after she had started training, he had been pushing her so hard that her inevitable failure was in stark contrast to her number of successes. This time it was his own fault: He knew she was not ready to go in on her own, yet he put her in harm's way and expected her to perform to a standard he really could not hold himself to with any certainty.

"Jamie."

She was in mid sip and had to set her mug down to prevent her hand from shaking noticeably.

"Yes?"

"You- You did well enough tonight. I think I might be pushing you too hard with the covert entry work. I won't put you in that kind of position again until I believe you're ready for it."

"But I _AM_ ready!" She shot to her feet and fired a desperate look at him. She thought he was taking away another job that she should be doing just because she had failed once.

"Jamie. That kind of work takes a lot of practice, and I knew going in tonight that you have not had nearly enough. You have the skills to do it, but the practice is what keeps you from getting caught...or worse."

"I'll practice more! I'll practice harder and longer!" Jamie stepped over quickly and took his hand, starting to beg on her knees. "Please, Michael. I know I made a dumb mistake, but I know I can do this. I'll do what it takes to get it right, even if I have to practice all night, every night. Please don't think I can't do it, because I know I can!"

It was sad, really. He was hardly able to move himself, yet here was this young woman begging him to let her continue to push herself to the breaking point.

"Jamie. The most important thing an infiltrator has to have is patience. I said before that some of the skills you are going to learn have taken me a lifetime. You can't expect to learn them in less than a year, and no matter how hard you push, it will still only come to you with time."

"But I'm a cyborg!"

"And a beautiful and smart one at that, but you still need time to learn these things. You made a mistake tonight, but I'm the one who put you in that place to make it. It is as much my mistake as yours, and that means we're going to have to learn our way through it together. You have to trust me on this, and believe me when I say that you will someday be as good as I am. But you have to take your time and do it right or you'll do it wrong all of the time. Do you understand?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor and he felt her insistence leave her body, the idea he was trying to convey getting through. When she spoke, it was soft and humbled again.

"I understand, Michael. We'll learn how to do this together."

"Good. Now, get a shower and try to get some sleep. I'm going to take some painkillers and pass out until morning. Maybe I'll wake up with someone else's back."

"I'm sorry for hurting you."

He could tell she really was sorry, but she did not have anything to be sorry for.

"Jamie, if you were intending to do it, I would have had to carry you out of there. Given the situation, you reacted appropriately and I have to say it was a pretty impressive move. Put it all together and you come to the conclusion that you were only trying to survive and I can't fault you for that. If you need me to say that I forgive you... Jamie, I forgive you. Now shower and go to bed."

Jamie had looked back up as he was speaking and was able to give him a look that, while not a smile, was about as close to one as her evening would allow.

"Thank you, Michael." She watched him limp into his room and shut the door before she went to the bathroom, feeling just a bit better than before. At least he was not snapping at her still, right?

"AAARGGGH!" Jamie jolted upright on the couch, screaming. The tears from her eyes were rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto the front of the collegiate t-shirt, the one Michael had left for her to wear after she got out of the shower. She blinked more tears loose and wiped them with the back of her hand, slowly getting her bearings in the dimly lit living room. She felt a phantom pain in her arm, the same as she had felt immediately after the first time they had to change it out. There was a long minute where it seemed like it was not there at all in spite of the controlled movement she had, but the feeling slowly returned and she started to relax, focusing on what her dream might have been to cause all of this pain and suffering she seemed to have inside.

The morning sun was starting to lighten the sky and a glance at the clock in the kitchen said that she had only slept five hours. She still felt tired, but the adrenaline from the dream was going to make it impossible to go back to sleep, certainly not her first experience with that.

"What is it? Why do I cry like this?" A final wipe dried her eyes completely and she felt a little better. Her mind got it's footing and she felt around for the TV remote, flipping on the morning news as she stood and went into the bathroom to start her day. She lacked any clothes but the maid dress and wetsuit, both of which were still quite damp and unbearable in the chilly morning air, so she would have to raid Michael's room for his sweats. That could certainly wait until he was awake.

The coffee was still on from when she made it and had turned into a strong, dark liquid that snapped her fully awake at the first sip, the caffeine a welcome addition to her morning. The news was on and a video caught her eye as she poured a bowl of cereal, so she turned the volume off of mute.

"A gathering at known Camorra head Christobal Ricci's turned deadly when a massive fire broke out in the kitchen of his mansion. The efforts of the staff to contain the fire were largely unsuccessful and several perished in the blaze before firefighters could arrive. Damage to the home is quoted in the millions and some sources have said, off-record, that this was an act of arson perpetrated by a rival faction in an effort to damage Ricci's standing among the organization..."

"People died?" It was not something Jamie wanted to hear first thing in the morning. The fire had been something she had a hand in, if indirectly, and innocents had been killed. It was not something she contemplated much, but she certainly did not go out of her way to kill innocents. On a fundamental level, it disturbed her.

Michael's cell phone started to ring loudly and she dashed to the coffee table to stop it before it could wake him. She glanced at the display and had to wonder why a pizza place would be calling him.

"Um, hello?" She answered the phone in Italian like always.

"Err... Is Michael there?" A woman's voice in English came through and Jamie had to wonder just where he got his pizzas. She switched to English to respond.

"I'm sorry... He's not available right now, and I'm not sure he's in a mood for pizza this early in the morning anyway."

"Pizza? OH! I forgot I put my number in like that. This must be Jamie, I take it?"

"Yes."

"It's nice to talk to you. This is Tanya, Michael's... err... friend." There was enough hesitation that Jamie could sense the slight awkwardness Michael's former lover was feeling.

"From Prague, right?"

"Yeah. I need to talk to him about some information I have, so when will he be available?"

"I'm not sure. He seemed pretty tired last night and hasn't come out of his room yet this morning, so it might be a while."

"Okay. Just tell him that I have some information for him and to call me from a secured phone. He'll know what I mean."

"Alright, Tanya. I'll make sure I let him know."

"Thanks. You take care of Michael, okay? He's a nice guy, but sometimes he forgets how dangerous things can be and goes off without thinking."

"I know... and I'll try to keep him in line."

"I hope we get to meet someday. I think we would get along just fine."

"I hope so too. Ciao."

Jamie could not help but feel awkward after hanging up as things were complicated enough without her having to talk to Michael's ex-girlfriend. Then again, she thought, she could be a source of information on him. Maybe some of the things she knew would be of help in understanding him.

There was a strong knock on the front door and her head snapped around with a suspicious glare. Things were getting a bit too busy here for Michael just having moved in and a visitor was simply not normal this early in the morning.

She pulled her gun from her holster beside the couch and checked the chamber for a live round. Satisfied, she stepped silently to the door and listened intently for any clue as to who it was. Another knock sounded before she decided to do the simple thing.

"Who is it?"

"It's Ferro. Michael called and asked me to stop by this morning."

Jamie peered through the peephole, something she should have done to begin with, and saw the frowning face of Ferro, seemingly irate at the delay.

"Oh... Hi." Jamie unlatched the door and opened it for her, stepping aside as she passed and relocking it as soon as it was closed. Ferro glanced at Jamie in her t-shirt and panties and rolled her eyes, wondering if Michael's pantsless condition was contagious.

"Could you please put something on?"

"Hm? Well, I guess I can make a fresh pot of coffee if you like." Jamie really had missed the point and wondered why Ferro suddenly looked like she was about to kill someone.

"Clothes, please. Put some clothes on." Ferro walked into the living room and settled into a chair to wait for Michael.

"Oh...Um... I don't really have anything to wear. I went straight from the agency to the job in my wetsuit, and I don't have anything else."

"Then please put that on. It's difficult to discuss business with someone in their underwear."

"Ah. Sorry." Jamie went to the bathroom and found the maid outfit that she had hung up to dry, slipping it on over her clothes and hoping it wouldn't offend Ferro any more than she already was. She wondered briefly if Ferro might be jealous over her body but passed on that thought. Ferro did not think about anything but the job.

When she stepped back out, Michael was working his way to the couch, his back still hurting him considerably when he moved.

"I did a little work last night on the data recovery, Ferro. There's quite a bit that is time-sensitive, and I'm worried that my escape last night might invalidate its use."

"Speaking of which... Why did you burn his house?"

"Last resort, I assure you. Things got a bit difficult and the only way I could think of to make our escape was a major distraction."

"Michael," Jamie poured him some coffee and set it on the table in front of him. "Michael, the news said some people died in the fire."

"Yeah, well, I expected that as a possibility. It happens sometimes, and that's why I don't like that method of escape." He sipped the coffee and felt a bit stronger when the strong liquid hit his stomach.

Ferro was not as cavalier about it. "Well, it certainly was a distraction. Along with two kitchen staff, Ricci's son was killed when the gas line ruptured."

Michael looked shocked at that. His eyes showed that he was thinking of the consequences and it started to dawn on him how serious things had turned.

"That was Ricci's only heir, right?"

Ferro nodded and handed him a slip of paper from her attaché case that detailed the rest of the night's events.

"Congratulation are in order, I guess. You've sewn the seeds for a mob-war inside Camorra. At sun-up this morning, Ricci's people hit the headquarters of his chief rival in smuggling, Antonio Santorini. Very little damage was done, but the message was only meant to be a simple one: 'There will be blood'. We can expect a severe escalation to occur after Ricci buries his son and focuses his full attention to the matter."

"Shit." Michael hung his head, closing his eyes tightly and struggling to come up with a way that this could work for them. "Any response from the rest of the families?"

"Our sources have word that they're convening a meeting to try to resolve this issue peacefully. Obviously Santorini is denying any involvement, but with the government playing along for the most part, no one can come up with anyone else who would want to take on Ricci. Even if the death of the son was incidental, the very act of attacking during the party is being seen as an insult to Ricci's honor and power. So, given all this information, Chief Lorenzo wants to know what the hell you were thinking last night."

Jamie could not take it anymore. Three people had died because of her stupid mistake, and more were going to die before it was over. "Ferro, I-"

Michael cut her off. "Ferro, I left a rope on the wall and it was discovered by a guard who started a house-wide search. Jamie was already inside and had retrieved the information, but was trapped in the office when the search started. I moved fast when I realized what was happening and started a fire in the kitchen when no one was looking. It was only supposed to distract the guards and staff long enough for Jamie to escape, but it obviously went beyond my expectations. This is my fault and I'll take responsibility for it."

He glanced at Jamie who was obviously worried about him taking responsibility for her error. "Jamie thinks it's her fault for not getting in and out quicker, but it's entirely mine."

Ferro looked between the two and then sighed, wondering how the hell she was going to cover up their actions to settle down the mob-war.

"Okay, Michael, that is what I'll tell the Chief. Hopefully the data you retrieved will be worth the efforts we're going to have to expend."

"Yeah." Michael leaned back and winced at the pain the movement caused. "I'm going to be laid up for a few days with this, Ferro. Have the intel teams start sorting the information and get me everything they find on Santorini and Ricci's long-standing relationship, and whatever information our own library has on them. Maybe I can come up with something to settle this down again." He turned and looked at Jamie, taking a moment to smile at how ridiculous she looked in the creased and dirtied maid dress. "You, Miss American Maid, are going back to the Agency with Ferro and are going to train your ass off. Work on your lock-picking and assault entries. I'll email more details in the next couple of days."

"But..." Jamie's face looked genuinely hurt. "You need someone here to help you."

"No I don't. I need you working on your skills. We're going to have to clean up this mess and I want you ready."

"Michael..."

"That's an order, Jamie." He could see and feel that she saw him as extremely vulnerable, a person in need of protection, and she could not take that easily, especially since it was her handler. She was programmed to protect him regardless of her own suffering, and he was now telling her not to do it. He could only wonder how many of the cyborgs could wrap their heads around that idea without blowing a gasket.

"I..." Her eyes met his and she knew from the subtle urgings from her stomach and the way Ferro was watching her that she had no choice but to obey, no matter how much it clashed with her own desires. "Okay. I'll go. But promise me you won't do anything reckless without me."

Ferro rolled her eyes and Michael smiled at Jamie, mussing her hair playfully.

"I promise I won't do anything stupid without you. Okay?"

"Yeah."

Ferro went to the door and paused there to wait for Jamie. "Michael, I'll try to get some information for you to go over and drop it by tonight. I'll also have Priscilla give you a call this evening to update you on whatever happens in the meantime."

"Thanks Ferro." He turned to Jamie and gave her a shove towards the door. "You better get going."

"Okay, I'm going. Sheesh." She picked up her gear from beside the door and started out, but stopped suddenly, remembering the call earlier. "Michael. Tanya called earlier and said she wants you to call her from a secure phone. She didn't say what it was about."

"Oh, okay, Jamie. Thanks for remembering. I'll see you in a few days." He gave her a smile and waved her out, returning to a frown the moment the door closed behind her.

"Tanya... great."

The day was turning into a wonderful one, and it had not even hit nine-o-clock yet.

The phone ringing startled Tatyana Pavlovna Sokolov from her intense reading session of the documents in front of her. The actions in Prague, however distasteful, had reaped a wealth of information and her entire being was turned towards processing it all as fast and as accurately as possible. This meant that sleep was on hold for at least a day, maybe two or three, something she was quite used to by this point in her career. She flipped her blonde hair back from where her left hand had been idly twirling it around a finger and rolled over in bed, picking her cell-phone from the small pouch mounted to her nightstand.

When she hit send, the phone chirped it's signal that it was linking into an encryption with the other end and after almost twenty seconds, it finally beeped again to signal it was ready.

"Hello?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Well, since you ask, I'll be nice and tell you that I'm wearing hardly anything at all. I have papers scattered all across my body, leaving small, agonizing cuts in my silky smooth flesh. It's absolutely divine."

"Being a desk-jockey is a bitch, isn't it?"

"Yes, Michael, it is. Did you call to laugh at me, or do you just want me to talk dirty to you some more?"

"I have a choice?"

"Um... No. I have some information for you and I think you'll find it interesting. By the way, are you using a 128bit encryption unit? My phone had a hard time linking up."

"Yeah, the Italians have our old version. You'd think they could get some better gear with the money they drop on anything. So, what do you have?"

"Okay, get a pen and sit down, there's some stuff here you're going to have to check out for yourself. The crypto team had no trouble with the half-assed document encoder the guy was using on that computer, and once the files were open, the analysis teams started choking on the data. Most of it we were able to trace through the usual channels, but there's a bit here we can't get any hits on, and our international guy said it had to do with Italy's internal problems. You ready?"

She could hear Michael groan as he moved around, ending with a sigh that must have been from finally sitting down.

"Are you okay over there?"

"I'll be okay. I injured my back when Jamie threw me onto a bed."

There was only silence for a long several moments.

"Michael... Seriously, she's a bit young, you know. Do you have some kind of lolita complex or something?"

"Funny... No, it was during a job, she was on edge, and I surprised her from behind. She flipped me onto a bed and killed my back. Broke the bed, too."

"Hmm. Are you okay? Maybe you should go on a diet."

"Lets just get back to the information."

Tanya laughed, enjoying talking to him again. She had been feeling lonely since they had parted in Prague and she had found herself thinking fondly of their past on several occasions.

"Okay... We cracked the seal and the first thing that popped onto the radars was his extensive list of contacts. They were all encoded using some old, Russian mathematical cipher, but the computers pulled that apart pretty fast. There were over a thousand names, mostly in Europe and South America, probably drug trafficking routes. We have the DEA working on a bit of that to see what they can turn up. There were quite a few names listed for weapons smuggling, including a few we recognized immediately as being linked to Afghan and Iranian funded terrorist groups. That's when we decided to check the items he shipped and came across something that evidently nobody knew."

"Links to human trafficking?"

"That comes later, quit reading ahead. Check this: He had moved more than twenty tons of Semtex over a period of eight years, funneling it to terrorist groups throughout the world. Columbia, Nicaragua, Spain, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, you name it, that's where it went. Twenty tons, Michael! No one noticed this. Now ask how."

"Okay... How did he move it?"

"He packed it in everything he could get his hands on. Anything in his ledger that was 'stolen goods', and there was a lot of stolen stereos going to Columbia, Venezuela, and Palestine. All of them passed through any checkpoint clean as a whistle. Now ask how _that_ could happen."

"Because the chemical tag was not in the explosive." It was starting to make sense to his quick mind. It was also the only way.

"Aw... You're no fun. That's absolutely right, though. So either this guy, or his suppliers, was sitting on a massive stockpile of pre-90's explosive, who's reliability is now very questionable, or there's something rotten in the Czech Republic. We've already got agents working on it, and the Director has already mentioned maybe putting me back in the field to track this one down. Your middleman was right in the middle of some of the largest black-market work we've ever seen from a single individual and it's got everyone interested. Which brings me to your bit."

"I'm all-ears."

"Okay. This guy moved a lot of porn. No, scratch that, a shit-load of porn. Most of it was the usual pirated stuff, T and A, nothing uncommon. He also moved a lot of the exotics, bondage, animal, fetish, and etcetera. Included in that was a goodly amount of kiddy-porn, which was mostly..." She came to a crescendo to lead him in.

"Snuff films."

"Bingo! We have a few of the director names on file, a real sleazy bunch but their ambitions don't even come close to a certain Excalibur Entertainment Company that was listed on line fifty-seven-oh-eight. Ex-Co, no other info to be found, not only provided some of the highest priced snuff films, but was also a key buyer of military-grade hardware."

"That's who I'm after. Is there anything else that points to them? A contact name, address, phone number?"

"A name came up further down the list. It jived with a couple of the payments that were moved through from the buyers to Ex-Co, but didn't list specifically to either. The payments added up to the right amounts, so it's just logical reasoning that makes me think this is your next guy. One of the bean counters we're renting concurred, but he was also picked up on tax-evasion a few years back, so take it for what you think it's worth."

"What's the name?"

"Thomas Rutherford. We made a general search but there's just too damn many to narrow it down."

"He's a Brit, so start with the UK listings. My informant also said that these guys were big into heavy-handed enforcement, so they would need heavy hitters. Maybe try the British military listings." Michael was getting a bit excited at the first bit of information in weeks.

"Okay... I got a few people talking with Europol, so maybe they can help with that. There are a few other trees I can shake, so I'll do that too." She made a note on her pad to look into that.

"Any address on him?"

"Milan, I guess. There's a list of cities here, probably drop locations. He'd be under a false name, if this isn't one already, but Milan comes up the most times."

"I've got a few things I can do on my end, so one of us will eventually catch onto him."

"Yeah. Hey, there's a bit of data here your people might like to know, wink-wink."

"My people?"

"Some of this money listed was being funneled into the Padanian terrorists cells. It took a round about course, but the end-point prior to distribution to Padania was a Camorra by the name of Antonio Santorini. Ring any bells?"

Michael sighed and leaned back in his chair as best he could. "Yeah... I was injured while raiding the home of his chief rival. We pulled some data from there but we haven't really had enough time to sort through it yet."

"Well, we have nothing on him except that he comes into the states every five months or so, stays for a few weeks while hitting every casino in Vegas, taps the local fauna, and then goes home."

By 'local fauna', Tanya meant high-class call girls. Ol' Tony had a taste for expensive entertainment and that could be useful.

"That gives me a place to start, at least. Any signs of illegal stuff while he's there?"

"Nada. He plays it pretty high key, making sure his face and money are remembered. I'll do some more checking on him, though, and let you know what I come up with."

"Tanya..." Michael's voice softened and she could tell he was thinking of her. "I appreciate this. You're the best in our business."

"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far. I'm certainly the best looking in our business, but I know what you're trying to say, Michael. You owe me big for this, and all the other times, and maybe one day I'll come to collect."

"I hope so."

They had never really been able to say goodbye on the phone, so for a long minute they just listened to each other's thoughts that went unspoken.

"Oh...One last thing I need to say, Michael. I've got a bad vibe and it started when you capped that guy in Prague. I didn't want to say anything then because I wasn't sure, but the more I dig into this for you, the worse it gets."

Tanya seemed to have a sixth-sense about the world around her professional life. She had said she'd had a bad vibe from the action in which he had been shot, and there were a few others he'd have to think about more to remember clearly, but they all had seemed to go awry at the worst possible moment, and it was only her quick thinking that had salvaged total defeats into break-even ventures. She was not someone you brush off when she had a bad feeling.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Just... It's just a feeling I've been getting. You know how that is with me, so please, watch your back. Okay?"

"Yeah. I will, Tanya. You be careful too. The problem with shaking limbs in a tree is that something is bound to fall out onto you."

"That's advice you should write on your mirror."

"Yeah. Maybe I will. Ship me a copy of your retrieved data and we'll take a look at it. Maybe there's something we can shed some light on."

"Okay, Michael. If anything else turns up, I'll call you."

"Alright. Later."

"Bye." She hung up her phone and set it back in the nightstand pouch, right next to her gun and flashlight. She hugged her pillow to her and sighed, as talking to him had only made her lonely heart more so. With the bad blood between them cleared up, the old feelings were returning in spite of her not wanting them to.

"I liked him better when I hated him."

Chapter 17:

"A week..." Jamie stared out of the bedroom window at the parking lot below and feeling every bit of soreness her training had inflicted on her, but hurt more by the lack of contact with Michael.

"Hm?" Maria looked up from folding her laundry. She had been watching Jamie closely the past few days and had no idea when she had made time to sleep or eat. It was sad, really. She was longing for her handler and making herself suffer in an effort to feel like she was doing something, anything, to hurry his return.

"I haven't seen him in a week. He said it would only be a few days, but he has not called, emailed, or even sent someone to talk to me. I'm starting to worry."

"Starting to? Jamie, when was the last time you ate something?"

"I don't remember."

"I do- dinner on Tuesday. You had a sandwich and two glasses of water. Since then you haven't eaten anything, unless you've been sneaking something in the middle of the night."

"I'm not hungry." Eating was just not something she felt like doing.

"You're not in the mood to eat. That's not the same as not being hungry." Maria put down her shirts and stepped behind her friend, wrapping both arms around her in a friendly, compassionate hug. "Jamie, I'm saying this as your friend. You can't keep training as hard as you are on an empty stomach because you'll make yourself sick. If you collapse, Jean will put you in the infirmary and you won't be of any use to Michael there."

"Maria, I appreciate your concern, but-" Jamie cocked her head to the side and listened carefully, focusing through the fatigue she felt for the sound she thought she had heard. "He's back!" She stood quickly, practically throwing off the smaller Maria, and ran for the door.

Michael was pulling a file-box from the trunk of his Jag when Jamie caught up to him, gasping for air in her weakened state.

"Michael!"

He had stiffened when he had heard her voice behind him and turned slowly to look at her, his eyes unable to hide a look of pain. The smile left her face and she tried to read him but found only questions in her own head.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Jamie. Just... I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Well, I was expecting you a few days ago and you didn't call in or anything, so that wasn't very nice, but it's not something you need to feel that bad about."

There was something in his eyes that told her it wasn't about that, but she could not find the courage to press it further. His eyes disturbed her in a way they never had before and she felt as if asking him anything else would unleash something frightening within him.

He turned back to his box, shut the trunk, and started towards the office building. Jamie fell in step beside him just as Maria caught up with them both.

"Hi, Michael."

"Hello, Maria. How have you been? Getting in your training?"

"Yes. The doctors said I could be mission-ready again next week if I pass the tests. My aim is dead on and I can almost keep up with Triela in hand-to-hand combat."

"Great! Have you been taking care of Jamie for me?"

"Well...When I can. She's been on the training grounds all day, every day, so I haven't seen her much." She didn't mention Jamie's physical self-abuse, not wanting to step in where she should not have to.

"Oh?" Michael looked at Jamie and glanced her over, taking note of her paler coloring and imprecise and sluggish movements. "Are you feeling okay, Jamie? Pushing yourself like that can be demanding and you're looking a little tired."

"I'm fine." A forced smile was put forth for his benefit, but he wasn't buying it at all. "I'm a little tired but I'll manage."

"Well, I'm going to be here all day and probably all night, so go get some rest and we can talk later this evening. Okay?" He let her get the office door for him.

"Okay." He disappeared around a corner and she stood there for several minutes while Maria looked around and waited patiently. Jamie finally snapped out and looked at Maria, smiling for the first time all week. "Are you hungry?"

"No, not really. I just ate."

"Well I am. Lets go." She grabbed Maria's hand and dragged her along towards the dining hall.

"Jaaaamiiiiiieeeee"

"I hope this is worth the wait, Michael."

Ferro sat down at the conference table, nodding at the assembled members of the Intel team. These people were some of the best and Ferro was quietly very proud of their work ethic and the results it brought.

"It is, trust me." He pulled the top of the box off and pulled the two-inch thick manila folders from it, stacking them on the table neatly by the notes on the post-it's marring the otherwise blank covers. "It's an early Christmas, courtesy of my friends at the Central Intelligence Agency."

"Wow..." Priscilla stepped in with coffee for everyone and handed them out, then took her spot at the table. "Does the CIA have their own forest to cut down?"

"Probably." He had a long sip of coffee before starting the meeting. "What you see before you is everything the CIA has on black market operations involving Italy. There is also a huge amount of other intel that I helped gather, intel which links Santorini with the funds, weapons, and explosives getting to Padania. I've been reading this stuff for several days and have what looks like a very clear path the monies take through the EU, the US, and even a few South American countries."

"This should be good." Ferro sipped her coffee and settled as Michael placed a world map on the wall.

"Okay, we start here in Italy. The Padanian terrorists need weapons and funding, so they contact their friends in Paris, Amsterdam, Madrid, Prague, etcetera. Some of them are in the black market business and have access to hardware, but where does the money come from? The only people who can profit when the government agencies are tied up with terrorists and looking away from them... Camorra. The Milan branch has shared a convenient relationship with their local government, and while the wheels are squeaking merrily away in the other direction, they have been importing everything they can get away with. Drugs, goods, weapons... Keep reading the list aloud long enough and you pass out. This stuff was cycled through a middleman named Aldridge, now deceased. He moved everything under the sun, and probably the sun on a few occasions, and I have no doubt that there are a lot more just like him that make up the massive network it would take to move the quantity they were.

Now, Aldridge had files on his computer that the CIA cracked open. Inside was his list of contacts everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. He even had someone at McMurdo station in Antarctica in case someone needed a bunch of penguins for research purposes. He was that good."

He took another sip of coffee before continuing.

"So the network gets the call for items, and Camorra, or more accurately two factions in Camorra, take action, because they're making a killing with smuggling while the government is kept involved with Padania. They get money to the network, and the goods are sent in through a number of routes. These people are extremely patient, and as long as there's a profit to be made, everyone provides a good bit of service."

"Okay, so Santorini and Ricci are buying supplies for Padania in return for the government being kept off their backs. How does the money move? We've been over every bank transaction and none of them coincide with the numbers we've pulled from the latest raids." Priscilla had been over the numbers several times and could not figure out where the money was from or how it came in. They had suspected Santorini for some time, but his numbers did not match anything they had, and she had given up on him.

"Easy." He dug through a separate stack and pulled up a balance sheet they had obtained from the Venice raid. "Lombardi got a huge payment only a few days before the raid, right? Now... We have Santorini listed as being out of country three weeks prior to the raid, and he was gone for a week. Where did he go?"

The blank looks he received showed that they had no clue.

"Vegas. He goes to Vegas every five months and blows a lot of money. I'm talking huge amounts, but none that ever hurts him overall. He doesn't even try to hide it. He's known to tip big at the tables and bars. Now... This money can be accounted for, and I've done so here." He put up a transparency on the overhead projector showing the difference between Tony's casino and travel expenses and his total spending.

"The rest of the money goes to the network to get filtered through to Padania."

"How?"

"His pants." He stumped them on that one and even Ferro looked like she was in need of a translator now.

"Explain."

"Tony likes the ladies. I mean he _really_ likes them. It's nothing for him to have two or even three high-priced call girls on his arms at all times. He naturally tips them big also, but the money from these girls does not go to their syndicates. It goes to the network, which is also participated in by the various Mafia groups in the states. The Columbian drug lords get their cut for the coke, the profiteers get their money for the weapons, etcetera. The network itself is like a global trading post. The money goes where it needs to, and the goods go where the money wants them."

"Camorra can't be funding Padania as a whole, it's just too much money."

"Then Santorini is probably just funding the local factions. Again, we're talking businessmen with a bit of patriotism thrown in. If Padania succeeds by some chance, then Camorra is the largest power in the new state. If they fail, they lose nothing but a little cash."

Priscilla stood and paced a bit by the window, wrapping her head around it as best she could. It made sense, in a way, but... "It's just not believable. It's too big. You can't sustain that kind of operation without being noticed. And who's to say that the money or goods don't disappear?"

He had expected that. Michael knew that the concept was outlandish, but that's the way things worked sometimes. "How many times has a criminal hidden effectively in plain sight by giving the pursuers what they want to see? How often has the person least suspected been the guilty party? The trained mind looks for patterns it knows, in this case you're looking for what you expect to see. The fact that it's much bigger than you can fathom works against you, not with you."

"I am still not convinced, Michael." Ferro had taken her notes and looked them over a third or fourth time, following his logic but, like Priscilla, was unable to make that leap of faith. "I need more than this. Give me evidence I can use."

"Okay. Here's is the money trail by the numbers, and here..." He handed over a page torn from his notes that he had taken the night before as he crunched the numbers. "Here is the final figure that I estimate made it to Padanian level. Several levels of cuts were taken along the way, but only amounted to twelve to fifteen percent, a modest fee for laundering money and certainly acceptable given the nature of the transactions. I had to work backwards from the receipt end, but as you can see, it matches up close enough that I'm convinced that money originated in Camorra and ended in Padanian hands."

"More, Michael. Lorenzo is not going to believe this without more."

"Damn it, Ferro, there isn't any more." His fatigue, among other things, had edged him to the breaking point. He was tired from the all-night researching and he snapped at her, feeling like she was asking the impossible. It took a moment but he realized how he had responded and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, Ferro, I haven't had much sleep since I came up with this. I just haven't had enough time and manpower, or evidence, to go further. I know this is right... I can feel it. You know the feeling when your instincts tell you something is right but you can't prove it."

"Yes I do." Everyone at the table had felt that way before, and the only remedy was more research until you could prove it. "Is there anything else you can say that might help the rest of us pull it together?"

"No. Wait! The middleman, Aldridge... His notes said that in eight years he had moved almost twenty tons of Semtex, I suspect untagged, to numerous terrorist groups. It is entirely possible that some has ended up here. I'm not sure if it's from an old stockpile, or if someone's making it new, but it does not have the normal chemical tag that is detectable to the common means. I'm not even sure if Beatrice could get a hit on it."

"That is a concern. There's no residual trace chemical to work from?"

"No. The manufacturing company never used a residual tag because there is not sufficient reliability of it surviving the detonation to make it worth-while."

"I see. And it is your gut feeling there may be some in-country now?"

"Yes. I have nothing to prove it at all, it's just a hunch."

"Okay... Say that this all pans out and Camorra is funding Padania in some places. What do we do about it?"

He felt like he had been asked whether to call the fire department when the house is on fire. Wasn't the answer obvious? "We burn it down. Every dollar that makes it to these people buys weapons and explosives that are being used to kill people. It needs to be shut down, and if done right, we can cripple Padania for some time to come."

"That simple..." Ferro had to wonder if Michael really saw things as being so easy and in a moment she figured that he probably did. There were always consequences to be thought through and Michael's history was dotted with times and places where he simply did not think far enough ahead.

"It's not simple, by any means, but it will have to be done."

"Alright. I'll give the Chief your report and we'll see what goes from there. I do not think he will move on it alone, so I want all of you that might have something that supports this to follow them up until we know one way or the other." She started to leave but stopped at the door, looking back at Michael. "This is good work for such a short time, Michael. Your efforts are certainly appreciated, but you need to get some rest. You look like hell."

She left and Michael could not be sure if she was simply patronizing him or whether it had been a serious complement.

"Thanks, I guess."

Jamie found him at his desk several hours later, still scanning through past reports of terrorist acts for any sign that the network he believed in was the source of the hardware. It was a daunting task, and even with his experience with lab reports, he was having trouble understanding all of the details.

She snuck up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, giving them a squeeze for support.

"Mmff. That feels good. I think I've been at this desk too long."

"You should get up and stretch a bit. Maybe we can go into town and get dinner?"

"Sorry, no. I can feel there is something in this data but I can't get my hands on it. I'm not leaving until I find it." He felt her pull away and she pulled up a chair from a neighboring desk, settling in beside him.

"I have something to tell you, Michael?"

"Yes?"

"I haven't slept much in the past several days. In fact, I haven't eaten much either. I've been so worried about you not reporting in as you promised and the only thing I could think to do was to continue training. When you saw me earlier I was a wreck and I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" He put down his pen and turned to face her. She looked like she was sorry, but he felt she was probably making a big deal out of nothing.

"Had something happened, I would not have been in a condition to be useful to you. Even worse, by allowing myself to get to that condition, I made it more difficult to learn what I should be."

It was ridiculous on it's face. She was apologizing for something that he did almost routinely. She had pushed herself to the point of exhaustion, had forced exhaustion on herself, and was now trying to-

"You want me to punish you? Is that it?"

"What? I... You should do what you think is appropriate." He had gotten inside her head and pulled up an answer that she didn't even know she had a question to. It stunned her somewhat, but she had to admit that he might be right. She was looking for some kind of attention from him. It did not matter what kind.

"Jamie, one thing I have been trying to get across to you is to learn to be independent as much as you can. There are times when we need to be away from each other and at those times, you need to spend it wisely because it's about the only privacy you have. I don't really care whether you train or have fun, or whatever in the time I haven't specifically laid out, but you need to do something other than make yourself sick over me. I know you are programmed to want to be at my side all of the time, but we both need space to grow and survive."

She wanted to scream out that it wasn't programming that made her want to be near him, but she could not speak that aloud because she was not entirely sure. Whatever the feeling inside her, something inside her said that it was not yet time to share it.

"Michael? Can we please just get out of here for the evening? I need to get out of this place."

She was begging now. He could see she did not know why, but she felt that it was imperative to spend time with him away from the environment that she was used to. His own fatigue helped his decision along.

"Okay. Go get ready and meet me at the car in ten minutes. Bring some spare clothes, you'll be taking my couch again tonight."

"Yes." She seemed happier, though she still looked like she was tired, staggering a bit as she stood and went out the office door. When he was sure she had gone, he pulled a small white box from his desk drawer, gently pulling the cover off.

The gold chain gleamed in the fluorescent lights but did not do the necklace justice. It was an attractive piece of work, one of only four hundred, he had found out. His thumb brushed across the etching, number 316, and in the relief of the lights, he could see a small crust of blood in the smallest of nooks of the cross. He had finally tracked it down, finding it in a jewelry shop in Milan two days before. The poor shop owner did not know what he had and Michael paid only a few hundred American dollars for it. He was sure he had made a profit on it, but he could have asked much more. It was worth a lot more to Michael.

It was worth someone's life.

It was worth someone's eternal soul.

And if Michael could have his way, he'd collect both from that someone. Unfortunately, he would have to settle for the former.

Winter was approaching fast, Michael knew. The cold air had tried to cut through his coat but failed, a testament to modern polymers. The night had fallen as they had driven to Milan and Jamie had thankfully chosen jeans instead of a skirt or dress. The night really had been determined by her choice in clothing, and while he knew he had counted on that in his plans, it had become the decision-maker.

He stopped the Jag down the street from a small warehouse; a place he had discovered was a den of thieves lorded over by something much worse. Stolen goods were brought there and processed in a thorough way. New serial numbers were created, printed, and items were repackaged, often with surprises tucked inside for their overseas recipients. He had not told Ferro and the others about this place and he took a moment to ask his self whether that was wise. The teams could storm the place and everyone inside would be dead within minutes, with little or no risk or casualties on their part.

No. He and Jamie were doing this one alone because it was the only way to get what he really wanted. The one thing he had been planning for, the excitement of the very idea coursing hot through his veins and keeping him awake. The very feeling was racing his heart even then and he knew it was now or never.

"Why are we stopping here?"

"We have work to do."

"What kind of work?"

"Clerical. We're editing some names out of the local phone book." He climbed out of the car and went to the trunk; pulling open the lock-box he kept the spare magazines for their guns in. They were all pre-loaded and arranged in belt pouches for quick access. She had followed him to the trunk and seemed reluctant to accept the pouch he handed her.

"Michael, is this authorized?"

"No. This is very, very personal. Inside that warehouse is a man I want to ask a lot of questions. You'll know him when you see him; it's that Tommy guy you bumped into in Venice. He knows a few things that I need to know, so I want him alive. Shoot him if you must, but make sure I can question him at-length. Everyone else in the building is to be eliminated with extreme prejudice."

"Michael, this isn't like you." She started to strap the equipment onto a tactical vest, placing everything where she could find it without thinking. Her eyes did not leave him, though, and the way his face was twisted into that of absolute hatred put her on guard.

"No, it's certainly like me. This is what happens when you come across scum that has infested your life, and you actually have the ability and moral justification to remove it."

"Michael, please. I don't want unnecessary killing tonight. I just want to relax and spend time with you."

In his eyes was the embodiment of hell. His course had been charted, his flight-plan filed, and he was going down that road no matter what happened that night.

"Jamie, this man deserves to die for what he did to you. He deserves a lot worse than death, and if I get the chance, I'll be sure to give him that as well."

She could not understand. Why was Michael going to kill a man for a minor offense? She had not liked it, obviously, but it certainly was not worth this.

"Michael, please. I'll help you get to him, and I'll kill anyone in the way, but I don't want that man to die because of some minor offense. Please?"

It was clear to him that she thought he was doing this over the bump in Venice. He would have to explain things to her a little better later, but now was certainly not the time. It might kill his bloodlust, and he did not want that now.

"Fine. I won't kill him, but everyone else in the place is fair game. Weapons are free and you are to have no hesitation."

"Okay. I'll get you to him."

They finished suiting up and moved swiftly down the street, sticking to shadows and cover wherever they could. Their night-vision showed a pair of guards that ceased to be a problem after Jamie jumped over the fence and slaughtered them with her Walther. She broke open the gate and Michael dashed through, leading the way between semi-trailers to a small door that looked to be the entrance to the receiving office. Jamie listened closely for any sounds within, and after hearing none, quickly picked the lock and swung the door open. Michael stepped in, covering the office with his suppressed Smith, and making his way to the workroom door.

There was a large gap beneath it and Jamie was able to see much of the target area by putting her head to the floor. Numerous pallets were arranged around a central area, a place where lights and voices showed was the source of activity. A set of stairs wound their way up to an office whose windows overlooked the floor, and she could see three men in the room, chatting casually. She could hear several different voices from the center area and she had to guess there were at least five, and maybe as many as eight people there.

"Eleven, Michael. I think. Sounds like they're pretty well distracted with work."

"Fine. Ready?"

Jamie swapped the used magazine for a fresh one and nodded at him.

"Go!"

The door handle turned and they silently rushed through, dashing to the pallets at the edge of the lit area. The door had been on a hydraulic closing arm and it closed loudly enough that the men all looked up from their work to see who might have entered.

Jamie caught them from the side and dropped three with double-taps in the blink of an eye. When the others spun to address her threat with their guns coming up, Michael stepped through a gap between stacks and took their flank, the forty coughing it's rounds into four of the five remaining. Jamie had her reload complete and finished the last target just as he had started to panic from the overwhelming assault, dropping his gun to the floor a moment before his body thumped down beside it.

"Nice work. Now we go up."

The whole stairway was exposed to the windows and they were spotted as they ran up the steps two at a time. A window shattered and the muzzle of an AK rifle flashed, the report deafening in the reflective-walled space. Jamie jumped the last eight steps and approached the window, flash-bang in hand. She popped the spoon and tossed it in, turning away from the window just before the flash and concussion pounded their senses. The window was as good an entrance as any, so she leaped through, quickly identifying her targets and killing the two unnecessary people with her Walther.

The third man, the man she had seen in Venice, looked up at her and felt a moment of recognition and even through the pain from his ears, he knew death had come for him. He raised a TT-33 pistol but Jamie closed the gap and twisted it from his grip, breaking his fingers and triggering the gun whose bullet narrowly missed her head. The action jammed because of her grip on the muzzle and she tossed it away, her gun to the head of the whimpering man who now cradled his broken fingers.

Michael stepped into the room and looked around at the bodies, satisfied with the way things had turned out.

"Hired help is so hard to find now, eh Tommy? Two people are able to take your whole operation down in a matter of minutes, that doesn't sound like very smart security from someone with your history."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Me? I'm just a guy who has some questions that require answers. If you answer those questions, you'll walk out of here. If you don't..." He leaned closer, his eyes speaking of untold horror in his intentions. "I'll have to be more persuasive in my methods. Yes, Tommy, I know your history. Believe me when I say that I can do much worse if I choose to."

"You're fucking with the wrong dog, yank. You won't live to see the morning after this."

"Tommy, son, don't let this start on the wrong foot. We've got all the time in the world here." Michael pulled a sturdy chair over and Jaime shoved Tommy roughly into it before tying him into it securely.

"I'm not telling you anything." He spit at Michael and missed, which was lucky for him. Jamie was ready to tear him apart for it.

"You will." Michael pulled a similar chair over and sat down in front of him, pulling a notebook from his jacket pocket. Jamie finished searching him and stepped over with a switchblade knife, looking at it with curiosity before handing it to Michael.

"Now then. You are Thomas Rutherford, medical discharged from the British army for mental instabilities. You got into trouble a few times in London, then moved to the continent where you took up a job moving stolen goods laden with more impressive stolen good. It looked like a nice racket and it's a shame it had to come to such an end. The police would have loved to take you down, but they probably would have made a mess out of it as they always do. But that's unimportant. What I'm really interested in is the Excalibur Entertainment Company."

"Go to hell!"

"Come on. I don't want your financial numbers. I just want the name of the man on top. Be a sport?" Michael had calmed down but the anger still brewed inside, giving his words a sarcastic tone to match the hostility in his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hmm. Refresher time!" Michael stood and flipped open the switchblade, then stabbed Tommy in the shoulder with it, twisting back and forth several times as Tommy screamed, the pain excruciating. "Remember that one, Tommy? There's a young blonde woman you did that to. Hurts like hell, doesn't it?"

Michael left the knife in to limit the blood loss and sat back down, going back to his notes.

"Excalibur Entertainment. Where do you work out of?"

"Shit... We work out of anywhere. We can't stay in one spot or we'll get caught."

"How many films?"

"I don't remember. A lot."

"How do you choose your targets?"

"The target is whatever the boss wants. A little girl, a little boy, a small scout troop. The boss says, we do.

"Who's the one calling the shots?"

"NO!" Tommy would not give that up easily and Michael knew that he would have to do something painful to crack that loyalty.

"Jamie..." She looked up, her eyes cold and lifeless. She was a machine. "Break his arm in ways doctors can't fix."

"Yes, sir." Jamie thought about it for a moment before untying the arm that had the knife in the shoulder. She felt along it with her delicate fingers, gauging the muscular strength and joint condition, all the while Tommy was watching her with a cold sweat running down his face.

"Tommy, I'm not bluffing. I want everything inside that head and I want it NOW!" Michael's anger at his defiance emboldened him and he smiled, remaining silent and calling the bluff. The little girl could not hurt him seriously.

"I've taken stronger girls than this one."

"Wrong answer, shit-head." He nodded to Jamie who grabbed Tommy's elbow and wrist.

"I'm very sorry. This will hurt quite a bit."

Tommy's head snapped around at the soft, mechanical voice and he only had a moment to read the soul-less look in her eyes.

In three rapid, deft movements, Jamie twisted the wrist, breaking both bones just above it, pulled the arm and pushed his elbow, reversing it in a sickening sound of crushing bones, then shifted his arm back and dislocated his shoulder.

Michael had to give Tommy credit; he had managed to remain conscious through it all, though he passed out just after he started to scream in agony. It had been so fast that all of the pain had to have reached his brain at the same instant.

Jamie released the arm and stepped back, snapping from her trance and looking at what she had done with shock.

"Jamie... I think I can handle things from here on. He's not going to be any trouble. Go out and check the perimeter, make sure we're still safe. When you're done with that, wait at the bottom of the stairs."

She was still in a bit of shock, but she heard his orders and nodded, stepping from the room with her gun drawn. Michael waited until he could no longer hear her steps on the metal stairs and then pulled a bottle of smelling salts from his jacket, waving them under Tommy's nose until the combination of smell and pain pulled him back from dreamland. It was another minute before Tommy could focus on what was around him, but the pain had to be the largest impediment.

"Tommy... I'm going to be perfectly honest. You surprise me with your reluctance to rat your boss out. No name could be worth the amount of pain you just endured." He pulled the necklace from his pocket and held it up for Tommy to see. "Remember this?"

It was clear from the look on his face that he did remember. "Wh-who the hell are you?"

"I'm someone who knows what you've done. I know the pleasure you took in raping little girls as you cut them open, watching as their life bleeds out." Michael stepped over and put his face right up to Tommy's, staring him in the eyes. "I know what you did to those American girls earlier this year. I watched the film. I was the one who found them in the warehouse. I'm the one who saved one of them. And I'm the one who's taking revenge for them."

It suddenly made sense to Tommy. The encounter in Venice; why she looked familiar.

"That's her?"

"Yes. And if she were able to remember the things you did to her, you wouldn't be talking right now. She deserves her vengeance on you; if not for herself, then for her friends. They were her only family, and you took them away from her."

"Not just me."

"Names, Tommy!"

"I- I can't."

"If you don't give me their names, I'm going to bring her in here and have her work on your other arm." For emphasis he squeezed the already-swollen, shattered elbow.

"AAGH! Please!"

"THE NAME!" Michael screamed it in his ear, trusting his voice to carry through the pain he inflicted by tormenting his arm.

"AAAGH! Amherst! Ian Amherst!"

"He's the leader?"

"YES!"

"Good." He let go of the arm and let Tommy catch his breath as the pain slacked. Michael calmed down, settling back into a collected interrogator. "What else can you tell me?"

"Nothing. He calls us when we need to do a job. A few others and myself do the dirty work; Amherst joins in sometimes, but mostly just films."

"And the American girls... Tell me about that."

"He hates Americans, something about his time in the service. He took his time and fucked all three of them before letting us have them. He finished them off, also, making sure his face was the last they saw."

"Where can I find him?" Michael sensed things were coming to an end from this source.

"I don't know. He keeps himself pretty secluded. Artistic quirk and all that."

"Then you're no longer of use to me." Michael twisted the suppressor from the end of his gun and turned, aiming at Tommy's head from five feet away.

"You said you'd let me live."

"I lied. Sorry."

The three shots sounded like cannons and his ears were still ringing when Jamie kicked open the door, expecting trouble.

"Michael?"

"Everything's fine. I got what I came for."

"You promised you wouldn't kill him."

"Save your sympathy. He doesn't deserve any after what he did to you." Michael's mind was focused on his next step, so it was too late by the time he realized what he had said.

"What?" She lowered her gun and stepped to his side, looking him in the eyes. Michael figured there was no more reason to hide this part of the terrible thing that happened to her.

"This man is one of the men that... They did some terrible things to you, things so terrible that you're better off not remembering. I have the name of my next target, and so at least some justice has been served."

Jamie was stunned by the revelation and Michael took the opportunity to do some creative work. He pulled on latex gloves and dipped his finger in the sea of blood that had poured from Tommy's gaping skull. He carefully wrote the word 'Rache' in blood on the floor then picked up his and Jamie's shell casings.

"Jamie, go down to the floor and pick up all of our brass. Leave nothing for the cops to find."

She snapped from her stunned train of thought and nodded. "Yes, Michael."

Michael looked around one last time for anything else he might use to throw off the scent, but he was satisfied. More than that, he was glad this part was over. There was plenty more to do, but he needed to take one step at a time now, because his remaining prey was infinitely more dangerous.

He gave the body on the floor a last look, the lifeless eyes cold and foreboding, speaking silent whispers of the things to come. Michael had no sympathy for it.

"Bye, Tommy. See you in Hell."

He found Jamie struggling to pick up the last of the casings, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she reached down.

"Hurry up, Jamie. We need to move out."

"I know." His voice had calmed her nerves from whatever she had been dealing with and she pocketed the last case as she rushed to catch up to him. "I had another bout of the shakes, sorry."

"Afraid like the last time?"

"Yes."

"I'm not going to lie. We have a long way to go to end this, but at least we have one less to deal with. By the way, I grabbed the surveillance tapes from the security office, so unless there's another hidden recorder, we should be in the clear. Always remember to check for tapes if you can."

The car ride was long and uneventful, the sounds of sirens far from them and getting further as they sped towards Rome.

"Michael, what happened to me?"

"Now is not the time." He kept his eyes on the road, which helped his heart remain cold.

"When are you going to tell me?"

"When you need to know. Now shut up and let me drive."

"You've changed, Michael." She folded her arms and settled into the seat, refusing to speak any further.

"Yeah? Maybe I have." He let that hang in the air but her curiosity was stronger than her will in this instance.

"Michael?"

"Yes."

"Why are you doing this?" He knew she meant the revenge killing. They had become almost of linked minds, able to read into each other quite a bit when necessary. He thought about it again, this time with a renewed perspective that he did not have when he started. The answer was as simple as the principle.

What did he have to do to finish this? He had to kill every last bastard that had touched her that night.

Why was he the one to do it?

"Because no one else will."

Her silence meant that she was thinking but he could not imagine what she was going to say next. Her life had been turned upside down with the information he had let slip and she had to be wondering what else he knew and was hiding from her.

Whatever her thoughts, she remained silent for the rest of the ride to Rome. He stole glances at her from time to time, watching her stare out the window at the road, the looks on her face visible in her reflection in the glass. They changed occasionally but he still could not determine what she was thinking.

Jamie was still distracted as they trudged up the stairs to the apartment, nearly tripping over her bag of clothes at one point, latching onto his jacket to maintain her balance and then retreating just as fast, clearly avoiding him where she could.

She went straight to the couch and flopped onto it, burying her head in the pillow while Michael picked up the phone and called Tanya to relate the evening events. He stepped into the kitchen while talking, keeping his voice low and overwhelmed with noise to prevent Jamie from hearing. When he hung up, he came back into the living room and settled into a chair and tossed a beer can at Jamie, thumping solidly onto her back and making her look up.

"What?"

"Have a drink."

"Why?" She sat up and picked up the ice-cold can from where it had fallen behind her on the couch.

"Because you're going to need it." He opened his and drained half of it in one pull, closing his eyes and letting the flavor take him back to his college days. He heard her open her can and opened his eyes to watch her drink. She held it in both hands, forcing herself to drink the whole can in one lift, coughing on the last swallow and settling back to let it take effect.

"Want another?"

"Please."

"I'll turn you into a lush in no time." He finished his own can as he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed another for himself as well. She was staring at the window when he returned, a sad look on her face and her eyes seemed heavy, like she was bearing the weight of the world. She sipped the fresh beer in silence for a while, still seeming like she was working things out in her head and searching for where she was supposed to fit in to her own life.

Michael had just finished his beer when she looked at him, feeling the effects of the alcohol and the associated mental and emotional changes associated with it.

"How long have you been lying to me, Michael?"

"Eh?"

"How long have you known my past?"

He looked away, feigning an attempt to remember but actually avoiding her piercing gaze. "A few weeks." The problem with lying for a living is that you eventually get good enough to convince yourself. In this case, he was still convinced that holding back was a noble thing to do. "I don't know everything, just a few bits here and there."

"Tell me."

"I don't think-"

"No more bullshit, Michael. I'm tired. I can't keep fighting like this. I wake up screaming, my body reacting to something I can't remember. I have things that go through my head and I don't know why, or even understand them. I can't keep doing this."

Her voice did not change and her eyes did not focus elsewhere. She said it simply, sounding as tired as anyone that had finally given up on life. He felt for her, he really did. He could understand what she was feeling, but it did not mean he could tell her everything he knew. They still had things to do and she could not know the entire truth yet.

"Okay... This Tommy guy and his associates caught you, and two friends. You were beaten, raped, tortured, and then cut up and left to die. You somehow survived and were brought to the agency for help, but your friends had no chance to make it. The agency gave you a new body, removed your memory as best they could, and then assigned you to me. You're really not supposed to be regaining your memory so fast, but they said it could happen and that I would have to decide what to do about it."

"So you've been hiding it from me? Why?"

"Because no matter how strong the person is, you can never tell what they will do with memories like that. Some kill themselves or try to. Some lash out against others. In the end, erasing the memory seems like the most humane thing to do, I guess."

She looked at him, boring dead-on into his eyes. "Do you think it's humane to leave someone wondering who and what they are?"

"No. No I don't. I don't make all of the decisions, Jamie, and some of the things I've had to do for the agency have been distasteful to me. You have to deal with decisions that affect you. I have to deal with ones that affect us both, and I'm trying my best to do what's best for you."

"How sure are you that you know what is best for me?" Her eyes had turned hostile when she looked at him and he could not blame her. She was in pain. It was an intense pain that stemmed from the conflict within her, between mind, body, and soul. No matter what the agency did to control her mind and body, her soul was what drove her. It made her strong. It made her determined. If someone violating her in every way conceivable could not break that determination, there was no way the agency could.

"Jamie, I just do what I can to keep us both alive and hope it's all right. Regardless of who you were and are, I care about you more than anything else. If I make a mistake, it's a mistake because I care too much."

"Caring too much can hurt just as much as not caring at all." She stood and wobbled a bit, feeling the sudden unsteadiness of the two beers in her system. "I'm going to shower this gunpowder and blood smell off, it's making me sick."

That was apparently the last word on the matter, though she looked back at him when she opened the bathroom door, her face showing disappointment in him. It was enough to break the heart if he was at all sure if he had one.

She had left her clothing bag on the floor beside the couch so he took it to the bathroom door, intending to slip it inside, but sobbing he heard through the spraying water made him stop. In his efforts to protect her, he had hurt her trust in him. He hated to run away from a problem, but in this case he figured it was best to let her come to him. She knew he had answers and she would come for them in her own time.

He left the bag outside the door and retired to his room, finally climbing into his bed after a very long day. Thankfully, he didn't see Tommy's face in his dreams.

It was cold and dark all around her. Jamie looked around her at the dim corners of what appeared to be a warehouse, crates and pallets stacked nearly to the ceiling and in something of a neat manner. There was a pool of light at the far end behind some stacks and she stepped that way, her lack of body making no noise as she floated over. She was just a mind without substance and the freedom of it teased her senses.

Voices could be heard as she got closer; several men and a few women, one of which screamed out in terror before the sound of a hand striking a face sounded off the walls. Jamie rushed over, her curiosity merging with her sense of duty to protect. She stopped as she reached the pool of light, the scene seeming familiar but she was not sure why.

Several halogen lamps were set up near a crate and a cargo van was in the background with its door open, a young brunette woman lying unconscious between the seats. Two men were setting up a camera and other items she could not see, while the other three were roughly pawing the girls, their intentions quite clear. The girls tried to fight them off as best they could but the disparity of strength was obvious.

"HEY!" Jamie yelled authoritatively, but her voice went unheard. No one looked up and she realized that she could only watch in disgust and horror as the camera started rolling and the men began to brutally violate the girls. An authoritative figure, the one who seemed to be directing the action, went to the van and dragged the brunette out by her hair, her limp form thumping to the concrete sickeningly. The pain made her start to stir back to consciousness and she yelled, struggling to break free of the hand dragging her by the scalp.

The camera moved around, catching all of the sickening action, focusing on the faces of the victims as they cried in pain and cried out for help from anyone. Jamie rushed over and tried kicking the men off of the girls, then screamed in frustration at her inability to affect things, to stop the outrage before her. The brunette was fully awake now and suffering the same indignity as the others, her clothing ripped to shreds and her attacker laughing at her feeble attempts to stop him.

It continued for a while, and eventually the blonde and red-head could no longer find strength to do anything but beg for their attackers to stop, begging that eventually gave in to fatalistic acceptance that they could no longer do anything but suffer at the hands of their assailants. The brunette kept fighting though, her face containing a look of hatred and defiance, her nails clawing where they could despite the brutal punches she endured each time they found flesh. Even though the mouths were moving, the only thing Jamie could hear were the sounds of the girls' suffering, as if someone had muted the dialogue but left the dubbing track.

She felt like she knew where the scene was going and was proven right when the broken pair was unceremoniously dumped in the center of the lit area and the men went to a box and pulled out various objects to continue their cruelty unto the end. The girls recoiled as best their battered bodies could, but the horrors Jamie was forced to watch next showed that no manner of resistance would stop the murderous intentions of this group. Their screams of pain rang out as blood was drawn, their bodies being mutilated to the delight of the sadistic throng, the laughter obvious despite the silence.

Jamie began to cry at her helplessness, wishing she could step in and stop this travesty, wishing she could do anything to silence the screams. She looked over at the brunette who was being forced to watch her friends suffer. The girl was still being raped, her death being saved until the final act, but her eyes were locked onto the bloody scene of her friends, and her voice was almost inaudible as she spoke. Jamie leaned closer to hear her and backed away in shock as she got a good look at the face of the girl. It was the girl from the club that sang for her. The beautiful girl with the guitar and angelic voice was now a beaten and bruised wreck of a human, but the light in the eyes was not dead yet. The sounds of a prayer or biblical verses met her ears and Jamie realized she was reaching out to her God, if not for salvation, then for comfort in her last horrifying moments.

A gurgling scream rang out as the blonde was gutted alive and was being strangled with her own bowels, and Jamie started heaving her non-existent stomach out at the smell of blood and bile that was assaulting her senses. She looked up at the face of the man and recognized the face of evil. It was the man she knew as Tommy.

When the blond and redhead were dead, the others gathered around their leader as he began the final insults to his victim, the woman Jamie had found so similar to herself. Tommy pressed his thumb into her eye, slowly adding pressure and forcing a scream from her lips until it finally popped, the clear liquid oozing out as she lost consciousness. The others berated him and pushed him aside as they brought her back from the darkness to continue their cruelty. The assault continued some time more, finally ending when they dropped her body to the floor and packed things away, finished with their sick film.

When they were gone, Jamie managed to work up the courage to go to the girl. The blood had poured from her severed leg and arm, turning her skin deathly pale and Jamie knelt over her, brushing her hand across the girl's hair as her own tears flowed. The things she had just witnessed were a testament to the dark side of humanity, a dark side she was evidently destined to fight. The girl's body twitched and a moan escaped, her good eye opening and blinking through the blood. It locked onto the body of the redhead that lay next to a crate and she gathered her strength, clawing her way forward through considerable pain and effort.

"Please...Please keep fighting!" Jamie yelled out, trying to help her in the only way she thought she could. "Fight to stay alive! Help is coming." Her tears reflected her true knowledge; that this girl was going to die alone on the cold floor, staring at the corpses of her closest friends. The girl managed to gather enough strength to take a deep breath, reaching out with her remaining hand towards her friend.

"Carol... I'm sorry. Carol..."

The Herculean effort was her last, the strength leaving her body as the breath left, and Jamie cradled the lifeless body, crying uncontrollably.

"How? How can someone do this to you? How can someone be so evil?"

A shadow fell upon the scene and she looked up at the figure, unable to see the face with the lights behind it. Jamie felt fear surge through her as her mind considered that this might be the specter of Death, there to claim the souls of the girls from their now-useless bodies. The shadow stared at the scene for a long time, as if considering the worthiness of those before it. Her fears changed to joy as the figure suddenly turned towards the light and vomited, his face illuminated momentarily in the light.

It was Michael.

The sight of him excited her and she shook the girl, begging her to live because help had arrived. Michael would certainly help her. He looked back for a moment more and Jamie thought he would start CPR on the girl, but he darted for the door.

"YOU COWARD! HELP HER!" She jumped to her feet and screamed at him, forgetting that she did not exist on their plain of reality. He remained at the door but refused to look back, so she figured it was up to herself. If she was trapped there, she was going to try to do something, anything, to help the girl.

The girl had rolled onto her back in her final moment and Jamie knelt next to her and started pounding on her chest, desperately trying to start her heart with her non-existent hands.

"Come on, please! Fight some more, I know you can! FIGHT, DAMN IT!"

She looked back at Michael who was still turned away and that made her try harder, trying to get the girl to make a sound, any sound, to alert him that there was still hope for her.

"BREATHE!" She clenched her hands into a single ball and raised them above her head. For that one moment her strength and desire became one and she had form again, bringing her fists down as hard as she could onto the girl's chest, striking it solidly and making the girl cough loudly, bringing her back from the brink of death for at least a moment longer. The eye opened and focused on Jamie, and the lips moved, whispering something Jamie could not hear.

Jamie looked to Michael to see if he had heard the cough and he had, stepping carefully closer as if he wasn't sure he had heard it. He yelled into his cell-phone and that seemed to start the pulling feeling inside her, the same she felt before. She knew this was her mind coming back to reality and she focused on remembering what she had seen so she would not forget it. The world turned sideways and she finally, thankfully, blacked out.

Jamie bolted upright on the couch again, gasping for air and feeling her heart race yet again. Another of those dreams she had, though this time she had not been screaming. Her tears soaked her pillow and the front of her tank top, and even as she wiped them away they kept flowing. An image came to her mind, that of a woman who was naked and bathed in blood, and she could not help but weep more. Her sobs were the only sounds in the silent apartment and for ten minutes they refused to cease, the tears becoming a comfort in their own right as they poured between her fingers and washed the emotional turmoil slowly away.

It was all inside her head, she realized. The things that made her wake up screaming, the tears, the phantom pains, it was all locked up in her head and trying to get out. Every bit of it was there. Some of it was who she had been and the rest was what she should be; the things that make a person who they are. The past and the future meet in a place called the present, and that's who you are. So who she is now is a combination of no past and little future, and that is _why_ she is who she is.

"God, this is complicated."

The tears had finally stopped and her body relaxed, the strength expended leaving her weak and unsteady after a long night and only a couple hours of sleep. She stumbled to the bathroom and started splashing cool water on her face to wash away the track of her tears, trying to get the image of the woman in blood from her mind as well. Jamie stared at herself in the mirror, brushing the hair from her eyes and staring into them, finding only herself staring back with a blank look. Whatever the agency had done to suppress her memories was not holding up and she was getting them back, but none of it was in a form she could use. She did not know what any of it meant and that lack of understanding was the only thing preventing her from knowing who she really was.

"It's like putting a jig-saw puzzle together upside-down. The pieces fit together, but there are so many and they all look the same."

She ducked down and splashed another wave of water on her face. When she looked up she gasped at the reflection she saw in the mirror. It was the girl from her dream, she suddenly remembered, the one missing her eye and teeth, the face a bruised and bloody mess. The realization came as she felt the strength leave her body and she crashed to the floor, striking the sink with her chin on the way down, breaking it and spilling the water everywhere.

A gray haze formed around her and she tried to move, to claw her way to safety with Michael, but her body refused to work at all. The gray turned to black and consumed her, the silence in her mind a comforting recess from the sudden onslaught of what it all meant.

The smell of Michael's cologne helped to ease Jamie out of her haze, the fog giving way to a pain in her jaw and a crushing headache. Her eyes focused in the darkened room and she realized she was in Michael's bed; his pillow the source of his scent, and his blankets the only thing she was wearing. Her head pounded as she sat up and felt her jaw; the massive bruise there screaming with pain when she touched it.

"Ow!" What had happened? She remembered drinking two beers, then showering. She felt certain she had woken up during the night from another dream. And then..."

"Michael?" He was obviously not in the room so she wrapped the comforter around her and carefully went to the door, peering out into the living room. He was at the far end, supervising the repairman as the sink was being replaced. He looked back and noticed her, moving quickly to keep her from moving any further away from the bedroom.

"What are you doing up? Get back in there until you're feeling better."

"I already am. What happened?"

"I was going to ask you. I heard a noise earlier and got up to find you passed out in the bathroom with a massive bruise and my sink broken."

"I can't remember much. I think I got up after a dream to wash my face. Then..." It came to her in a second, a sign that her memory was getting better but a look at Michael's concerned face told her to keep what she saw in the mirror to herself. She still did not understand it all though she could feel that at the moment she passed out, there had been an epiphany that the blackness had swallowed up.

"I'm not sure what happened then. I guess I must have blacked out and fell." She held her head that was continuing to throb with the noise the repairman was making.

"Well, go on back into the bedroom and rest. Doctor Bianchi is going to stop by to check on you."

"We're not going back to the agency?"

"Not yet, Jamie. If you're feeling better later on we'll go out and get some dinner."

Jamie smiled weakly, a soft laugh escaping as she turned towards the bedroom. "That sounds nice." She slipped into a nightshirt and settled back into the bed, closing her eyes to the world. It felt good to be at rest somewhere.

"How is she?" Michael had waited in the living room while Bianchi had examined Jamie. He had come back out after about an hour and accepted the coffee Michael had offered.

"She'll be okay. I gave her something to dull the pain and did some touch up work to help the bruise heal faster. There are some serious things you and I have to discuss though, starting with the way you treat her."

"What? What's wrong with the way I treat her?"

"Well, you should really do a better job of defining your relationship to her. If you want to be her teacher, okay. If you want to be her brother, okay. If you want to be her lover... well, I can't stop you regardless of how disturbing I think it might be. Whatever you decide to do, I suggest you pick one and stick with it. That girl is so confused about how to look at you that it's probably the reason she's unable to concentrate on anything but her missions."

"Wait..." Despite his now-fluent Italian, he was still having trouble following Bianchi on everything. "You're telling me that she can't figure out whether to listen to me or make love to me?"

"That's a bit of an over-simplification, but essentially yes. She looks at you the way a high-school girl looks at the new, attractive, intelligent, young male teacher. She's attracted to you in the physical sense as well as the intellectual way. To her, you are the man she has a crush on and she sees your attentions as being indications of a reciprocated love towards her. Her mistakes and your occasional indifference towards her are viewed as things in the way of that love and she reacts negatively to them, to the point of becoming upset."

"And that's what happened last night?" Michael looked towards the door to see if she might be peeking out.

"Possibly. That is the other thing we need to discuss. She is hiding things from me, and likely from you as well. She said she did not know why or how she fell, but I get the feeling she was covering it up, and if that is true, you might be losing control of her. That is not something I'd like to contemplate."

"She's becoming her own woman, something I've been encouraging, and you're telling me that it's wrong?"

"I'm telling you that the agency is not going to allow one of their cyborgs to operate independent of their control. You see her as a young woman, but the agency sees her as an investment and a dangerous one at that. If she were to go out of control, she could do a lot of harm."

"Politically, you mean." Throughout his career, politics had been his one absolute hatred. People died because of politics, a meaningless death that was never suffered by those whose politics caused it.

"Physically as well. How should I put this? When a cyborg becomes unstable, their first victim is likely to be their handler, not just because they're the closest, but because the handler's actions may be the perceived wrong that sets them off." He could tell that Michael was not following entirely.

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone this, especially the new handlers. One of the first generations lost control and killed her handler a while back. The girl loved him as many of them do, but his interest was lacking. He treated her horribly; probably less like a person than any pet owner does their pet. At some point, she realized that he could not love her, so she put a hole in his head, then killed herself. After that, we instituted some fixes in the conditioning and covered the whole thing up."

It was news to Michael. He had heard that a fratello had been killed in the line of duty, but the truth of the matter was certainly a surprise. Accidents are one thing, but an outright cover-up of a 'malfunction' was entirely different.

"So you're saying Jamie could finally snap one day when I complain about the way she fixed my coffee, then I'll be dead before I know it?"

"I'm saying that the agency watches for any sign of control-loss with a very serious concern. Her duplicity in the little things implies the possibility of it on the major things, like intentions to go rogue or become critically homicidal."

Michael looked at the bedroom door again, now wondering if the girl was really capable of turning on him, but finally deciding that she could not. Maybe he was naive, but he did not get that feeling from her, and his instincts were usually right.

"I appreciate your being so forthcoming with that. It's too damn hard to get a straight answer from anyone in the agency on something like this. I'll keep an eye on her, Bianchi, and if she does become dangerous, I'll be the one to put the bullet in her."

That statement did not surprise Bianchi. Michael was a confliction of ideals, like most Americans he had met, and while he felt like he needed to protect Jamie, he considered it his own job to execute her if necessary. He was the kind of person who believed in the merits of personal involvement. It was _his_ cyborg, and therefore _his_ responsibility to do what was best.

Bianchi stood and put on his coat so he could make his exit.

"You're a good man, Christiansen. Just make sure to watch her with unbiased eyes."

"I will." He walked him to the door and held it for the doctor. "Are you going to report this in?"

"It was a simple injury due to a bit of clumsiness and fatigue." The agency was not the only ones that could cover things up. "Enjoy your day off."

"Thanks for stopping by and scaring the hell out of me."

"Anytime."

The door shut and Michael had the enormity of his responsibility hit him. His actions of revenge were allowing Jamie to remember her past, something that may or may not be the smart thing to do. When she realized the extent to which he had been deceiving her, would she react by taking his life?

"Michael?" Jamie's voice called from the bedroom, a lonely sounding call for him to be there with her. The room was still darkened and his eyes took a moment to find her form sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong, Jamie?"

"Nothing, really. I just wanted to know if we were still going out this evening."

"Yes, if you feel up to it." He sat down bedside her, being mindful to give her some personal space. He still had not decided where their relationship would fall, though he was certain it was not going to go the route of lovers.

"I'll be okay. Dr. Bianchi gave me something that made the pain go away and a bit of make-up will fix the bruise." She shivered and pulled the blanket up around her. "I hate doctor visits. Their hands are always so cold."

"It's a pre-requisite to get into med-school."

"Your hands are always so warm. Why is that?" She had taken his hand in hers and he could feel the chill of her hands as his transferred its warmth. He gave her a moment to enjoy it before pulling away.

"It's from all of the blood on them."

She frowned and turned away, jilted by his remark and it's tone. "You're so... I don't know what the word is, but the way you self-depreciate upsets me. You're a good person, and no matter who you've killed, you should think better of yourself."

"You think so? That just shows how little you know about me."

"Really?" Jamie rolled over in the bed, wrapping herself tighter in the blankets, and then propped her head up on her hands, looking intently at him. "Since you've never made an effort to spell out much of your past, it's no wonder I don't know. So won't you tell me?"

His eyes met hers and he could tell that she was genuinely interested in knowing about him. It was probably the conditioning making her do it, but whatever the cause, she was not going to be happy until he told her something. He shifted on the bed and sat against the headboard, relaxing while he told the story.

"Well, I guess I should start by saying that I've always had a knack for picking locks. It's something I started into when I was young and by the time I graduated high school, I was breaking into cars, houses, almost anything. Like most criminals, I kept searching for a bigger high. Well, one night I decided to hit this large house at two in the morning. This place was incredible, and given the location in Virginia, I should have figured it was that of a government employee.

Well, I got into the place, swiped some personal information and some valuables, and went on my merry way. The next day I get back from my fence to find three people from the CIA in my apartment. They had already tossed the place and were simply waiting for me to get back to discuss my activities.

Apparently the house I hit had been that of a CIA station chief. He was impressed with my skills, my courtesy in leaving the house without trashing the place, and with the fact that I had done it all while he was asleep upstairs. I had been sloppy, however, in not reconnoitering my target effectively, not checking for the hidden recording devices that had me in fine detail, and not making sure I had something to tell me that someone was in my apartment while I was out.

All of this the man told me while smiling, as if I was some student that he was discussing a grade with."

"What did you do?"

"Well, he offered me two choices. I could be arrested as a foreign agent and sentenced to most of my life in a federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison, or I could come to work for him where I could use my skills to serve my government."

"And you, being the patriotic type that you are, accepted the latter." Jamie smiled at him, finally getting a feel for him.

"Something like that, yeah. I spent the required time on The Farm, got a degree in criminal justice alongside it, and did my first tour in the Czech Republic." Just talking about it brought back the feel of the summer heat from the moment he first set foot in Prague.

"Is that where you met Tanya?"

"She was my training instructor there. You learn a lot of things on The Farm, but you eventually have to take the field and learn how to deal there."

"And you fell in love with her? Hot for teacher, huh?" Jamie giggled; something Michael wasn't sure was at all normal for a cyborg.

"You haven't seen her. Obviously she's older now, but when I met her she was twenty-eight, and with her height and slim frame, she was almost too hot to touch. We didn't get along at first, but after I saved her life one night, we came to the realization that we are the same type of person. The things we do..."

It was difficult to describe to Jamie. She was not even close to the age at which he had to learn to kill. With age comes understanding and wisdom, both of which she seemed to have more of than he did then.

"Well, the things we do make us who we are, and the only place Tanya and I could be at ease was in each others' arms. I miss that sometimes."

Jamie crawled out of the blankets and knelt next to him on the bed, her eyes bright again. "You have me, Michael." She was smiling at him with a hopeful expression; one that showed she was stepping out with her feelings for him and hoping that he would understand and return them.

"Jamie..." He had to let her down and do it gently, but he was not sure how. His relationships had either been outright fabrications for Intel purposes, or miserable failures that the woman had decided to end first. The desperate look in her eyes made it an easy decision, but it also made the words hard to find.

"Jamie, I just don't feel for you in the same way I did her. I care about you, yes, but not in that way."

It was as if he had just stabbed her in the gut, and at that moment, Bianchi's warning about homicidal cyborgs flashed through his brain and he wished he'd had his gun handy. She hardly reacted. She sat back on her heels and a string of emotional thoughts flashed through her mind, entirely visible on her face. It was like watching the numbers on a lottery wheel skip past the little flag, until it finally ended on one that was still hopeful.

"Is it how young I seem? Michael, I'm eighteen and legal no matter where we are." She hopped off of the bed and pulled off her nightshirt, standing naked before him, her voice changing to a pleading one. "See? I have a great body! I'm tall, graceful, and intelligent. What more could you possibly want?"

It was going too far now. What had been an odd, but cute, infatuation with him was turning into a borderline obsession.

"Jamie, it's not about looks."

"I can comfort you when you're lonely, and cheer you up when you're sad. I can always be here for you." The hysterics in her voice were starting to show the signs of her cracking mentality. She would do anything, probably even die, if it meant a moment more with him. She might even be able to kill him in the deranged idea of spending eternity with him.

"It's not about that, Jamie!"

"Then what is it? Why won't you love me?" Her scream was from the frustration finally bursting from within her, and for the first time he understood what was wrong with her to cause this. It was not about sex or love. It wasn't about the drills or lessons or real action. It was about how lonely she really was inside.

She was alone because her parents died in that wintery crash. Her few friends, her replacement family, had died in front of her eyes. Even if she did not know these things, the pain of being alone in the world was still there. Somehow, she had not been able to accept, or believe, that he was not going to leave her as well, and that fear and uncertainty was manifesting itself in a strangely typical way.

In one of his psych courses there had been a discussion of battered women and why they will defend, sometimes until their death, the man that beats and mistreats them. One idea was that the attachment came from the fear of being unable to find anyone else to feel _any_ security with, so the women remained where they were, accepting the beatings to remain in their comfort zone. The study also showed that some women would take to promiscuity, often sleeping with any man at all, to maintain the feeling that they weren't alone.

Jamie felt alone, plain and simple, and to keep him at her side, she was desperately seeking anything to keep him there. The sad part was that she was so caught up in trying to keep him there, that she could not see that he was not going anywhere to begin with.

"Jamie..." He climbed off of the bed and stepped to her, hugging her to him tightly as her tears started to pour onto his shoulder. "Jamie, I know you feel alone. I know that you can't bear the thought of losing me, but you need to know in your heart that I'm not going anywhere. You are all I have, the same as my being all you have in this world. You're my only family, Jamie, and I love you like that. I can't love you as I would any other woman, because that would mean I _could_ stop loving you. I can't do that, Jamie, because we're too important to each other."

She hugged him tighter, nearly making him wince from the strength in her arms. Her tears soaked his shoulder and her sobs were painful to listen to, their sounds and his own words hitting a spot in his heart that he had thought to be dead. He was not emotionless by any means, but part of him had been emotionally dormant so long that the sudden explosion of it was a surprise. He had forgotten what family really felt like. Tanya had been the closest to him, but had been someone he could stop loving. Family was different. Family is an unconditional love, and even though family can have disputes and even hatred, there is still something that makes the person family, and that is the emotional attachment of unconditional love.

Jamie was his family now. Unconsciously he had been treating her as such, but he had never understood it in the emotional sense until now. He had to protect her as best he could, and she would do the same for him.

"I'm sorry, Michael." She had turned her head and whispered it in his ear, her sobs quieting as the tears subsided.

"It's not your fault, Jamie. I wasn't able to understand what you were trying to say through your actions because I had forgotten how. You're my family, Jamie, and nothing that happens from now on will change that."

"Not even if I screw up?"

"No. When you screw up, I'll be there to help you make it right."

"I love you Michael. I could not understand it before, but I do now. You've always treated me like family in your own way, and I've mistaken that for another kind of love."

"I didn't understand it myself until just now." She pulled back and stared into his eyes, but there was a different look in them; that of closeness he had not had before, even with Tanya. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, lingering there for several seconds before backing off again, flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I just thought that if we were going to be a true fratello from now on, I'd had better get the now-incestuous feelings out before it takes effect. I have been wanting to kiss you for real since that night in the club, and now that I have, I think we can move on."

"That's good. How was it?"

"I've probably had better." She escaped his arms and pulled her nightshirt back on, wiping a few more tears from her eyes. She was back to being a companion, a sister, and the change from the psychotic mess from ten minutes earlier was a good thing. The joke was cover for her burying the last of her old feelings deep inside, tucked neatly into a place called the past.

"Thanks, 'Sis'..." He hugged her again and started towards the living room. "Get dressed, Jamie. We're going out tonight to celebrate and have fun."

"I'd like that."

The night's chill was dulled by the warm spirit the pair had. Michael was glad to see her smiling again, a smile that never left between the shops they visited, the movie they watched, or the walk through the Villa Borghese with the lights reflecting off of the ponds and fountains. Things had changed for the better again, and it was only after they had returned to the apartment and collapsed onto the couch that he had time or inclination to think about it. Maybe it was being pessimistic, but in his experience, good things rarely happened in a vacuum. Something bad was eventually going to happen and he had to be ready for it when it came.

He never thought it would be the next day.


	8. Chapter 18 to 19

Chapter 18: Forty-Five

The phone was ringing; it's electronic beeping shrill enough to wake the dead from a drunken slumber. Michael reached out for it, finally finding it on the floor where his tossing in the night had knocked both it and his clock nearly under the bed. It was a minute past ten, and thirty-seconds after by the time he manage to get the receiver to his ear.

"Christiansen?"

"Oh, hello, Jean. You're a wonderful voice to wake up to."

"You're late. You should be in the office by now."

"Sorry. Jamie and I had a late-night recon and I guess I slept in." 'What the hell', Michael thought, if you're already in trouble for being American, why not dig a little deeper to irritate them.

"Well, it is just as well. Get Jamie and get down to Galileo Street. We just received a bomb-threat from Padania saying that they are going to hit somewhere in that district. I want you to start checking the likely places in the area for bombs and suspicious individuals."

"Just us?"

"I'm getting the teams here ready to move and we will catch up with you. Alessandro will meet up with the rest of us there as well. Bernardo and Beatrice will be checking the Ministry of the Interior first, then will move on as required."

"Okay. I'll be on-scene in twenty and channel two on the radio."

"Be careful."

"Yes, mom." He hung up and started looking for his pants. Jamie knocked on the door a moment later and walked in, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"What's going on?"

"Get dressed now and check your guitar case. Padania has issued a threat to bomb somewhere around the Ministry of the Interior and Jean is sending us in to search for it."

She snapped fully awake at the word 'bomb' and her eyes narrowed, switching over to business mode. "How are we supposed to find it?"

"I guess they're hoping they used a grandfather clock for a timer, because other than that, I don't see how you have a better chance than Beatrice. But then again, sometimes it's about being unlucky enough to stumble across it. Get dressed."

"Yes, sir!" She snapped a curt salute, one that was cute with her wearing only her nightshirt.

He was dressed in five and already aching under the ballistic vest hidden beneath his shirt. He hadn't had time to order one of the ultra-light businessman models, but he was definitely thinking about it now. His Smith went into his shoulder holster and five extra magazines went onto the opposite side in a pouch. He decided to go with his bomber jacket, given the slight chill in the air from overnight, and he found that Jamie was thinking as clearly as himself with her blue jeans and turtle-necked, sleeveless shirt. She pulled a pullover on and checked to make sure it would not ride up far enough to reveal her gun, then loaded and verified the Walther, ready to go as it clicked into place in it's holster.

"Ready, Michael."

"Okay."

They walked the distance, buying breakfast and gauging the mood on the street as they went deeper into the government district. The tourists were oblivious, as always, but the mood among the residents was normal as well. Padania had obviously not announced their intentions outright or the mood would be quite different. That would mean their threat was a direct challenge to the government alone, a sign that the public panic an announced threat would create would simply not help their cause.

"Yep... this is a challenge."

"Hm?" Jamie looked over at him, curious as to what brought that on.

"They're challenging the government, Jamie. By issuing a threat to only the government, they are preventing public panic, and thus avoiding the outrage a successful incident would create if the public were targeted. Padania is not about terrorism as I'm used to it. This is about forcing one side to capitulate to demands via public support. Whoever can win the public over in this conflict is going to win. Right now, it's about even, but they tread on thin ice. It won't take much of an over-reach to bring public support on the government's side, and then the hand of God will descend on the insurgents."

"Oh. I'm not big on politics, I'm afraid. I only need to know one thing: Where they are." She struck a Charlie's Angels pose, her fingers a pretend gun and a few onlookers getting a laugh at the sight.

"Cute, Jamie, but not practical. Being a mindless soldier will only take you so far. You have to be smart enough to know right from wrong, and to be able to act on that. By knowing the inspirations of an enemy, you can then use your knowledge of their operations to set a trap for them; crushing and crippling them in a fell swoop, removing any ability or inclination for counter-attack.

"I see."

He held the door for her and they entered the DCPP headquarters, stopping before the metal detectors to identify themselves.

"Christiansen, Section Two. We're here to have a look around." He flipped open his papers for the guards who looked them over carefully.

"Yes, we received a call from the Ministry saying some people would be checking in on us. Do you require anything?"

"Someone with a set of keys and knowledge of the place. I'll check the obvious places and work from there."

"Our security here is excellent and the idea of such an attack is laughable, but we will accommodate you."

Jamie glanced at Michael when the guard turned to make a call, and he understood the look. They weren't taking it seriously enough. Michael knew exactly what it took to bomb a well-defended target: A little patience for the right moment, a lax or over-confident guard, and a sudden change in the cleaning staff. He had done that deed with Tanya once, and after sneaking in as the night janitors, planting explosives, cleaning toilets, and getting the hell out, they had made love to the sounds of the fireworks from a Chinese-run drug factory. It was just one of those nights you had to be there for.

A youngish woman in a Carabinieri uniform met them and smiled, obviously chosen for her sunny personality over her plain looks.

"Hello, I'm Diana Donati, I'll be escorting you around the building."

"Michael Christiansen, and this is my assistant, Jamie."

"Americans?" The confusion on her face was obvious.

"Section Two is an interesting compilation of individuals." He offered his papers again to set her at ease. She glanced at them and accepted them as authentic, then led them through the gates that beeped loudly as they passed through. No one looked up at all. Michael could see that this place was in desperate need of a security review, and when he got back he would send a memo about it.

The basement was the obvious choice for an all-destructive bomb, so they covered that first. Blow out the foundation of a building and the rest comes crumbling down. But he could tell it would be no easy task with this old of a building. Numerous stone support columns would have to be blown out and the amount of explosive required could simply not be missed, even by this crack team of geniuses. A goodly amount of ANFO (Ammonium-Nitrate/ Fuel-Oil) in a parking space out front would be more likely than plastic explosives inside.

Still, he had to check, so they next started on the ground floor and worked their way up. They had just stepped onto the fourth floor when his radio squelched.

"Michael, this is Jean."

Michael stopped and keyed his mic, noting that Jamie had popped her earpiece in as well.

"Michael here. We're on the DCPP building's fourth floor, finishing our search here. I've found nothing important."

"Marco is on his way over to cover the street. When you're done there, head north two blocks and cover the street there."

"Roger that." He shrugged at Jamie and followed their guide into the first room.

The office was clean and organized, the numerous desks crowding the small room. He stepped to the windows and looked down at the street below, the crowd thinner here because of the restricted nature of the area. He could see Marco and Angelica walking past a group of Leatherheads, the girl seemingly more animated than he'd seen her before.

"She's so cute with her case!" Jamie started to open the window to yell out but Michael stopped her before she raised it all the way.

"We're not here to play, Jamie. Lets move onto the next room and get this over with as soon as possible."

Michael led the way towards the door, and glanced back as his hand touched the knob, checking to make sure Jamie was following. Miss Donati was pulling up the rear in order to lock the door behind them and he smiled at her, but a change in Jamie's face froze him, making his heart skip a beat and sending a chill up his spine.

Jamie heard the excited yell to stop, an authoritative yell from a guard, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the sound of a large engine, like a big diesel truck, picking up speed.

Michael would never know what it was that went through her head at that moment, but she lunged a step forward and shoved him as hard as she could through the office door, his body slamming against it with what felt like a half-ton of force and ripping it off of it's hinges as he and the door slid into the hallway. He caught a glimpse of her determined face and the startled look of Miss Donati next to Jamie's shoulder, then the world crashed in.

An explosion ripped through the windows and front wall, silhouetting Jamie in a wall of oranges and whites and sending pieces of debris throughout the room. Shards of glass bounced off of the stone walls but fragments of glass and brick pelted Michael through the doorway just after he had the sense to shield his face. The fireball stopped at the office door and rushed back out, sucking the air towards the door and he could swear he heard the sounds of the moment's taken souls screaming out as they were dragged from their hosts dying bodies.

In a moment it was all over and the only sounds Michael could hear were from the sprinklers kicking on throughout the building and the screams of those still alive down below. He managed to get to his feet, his back aching again from where the door impact had re-injured it, and his right-ear ringing from the lack of protection that the radio earpiece had afforded his left. His arms and legs had numerous small cuts from the glass but none were severe enough to stop him. He was lucky this time.

He stepped into the office and looked at the motionless form of Jamie on the floor, her back a bloody wreck from the stone, glass, and wood that had ripped into it. She moaned and twitched slightly and he figured she might be okay overall, but the sight of the woman that had been behind her gave him no hope. The young woman was dead, her face welded into an eternal look of shock, the eyes wide and lifeless, and her flesh and clothes burned horribly. Many of the fragments in Jamie's back had traveled through her first, and he could only hope she had died quickly and painlessly, her shocked look from the moment her brain ceased to receive signal from her body.

"All teams report in!" His radio was still working, amazing since his receiver was the first thing to hit the door on his way through it. His mouth was dry and he had to cough some dust out of his throat before he could speak.

"Michael here, I'm alive but Jamie's hit. Someone get down to the street and check on Marco and Angelica. They were- they were near the gate when the bomb went off."

"Stay put, Michael, help is on the way."

"What the hell else am I going to do?" Michael struggled to sit down next to Jamie's body, his limbs shaking from the shock of the disaster. It would be different if he had something to do to help the situation: he would be rock-solid and in-charge. But without anything to keep him busy, he had to be content with the company of the wounded and the dead, a familiar, if unwelcome, arrangement.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package, wrapped in black electrical tape, and slowly peeled the tape off. The American silver dollar, one of a pair that he carried with him, earned a long, fateful look before he leaned over and set it heads-up on the body of Diana Donati. He pulled Jamie's limp form onto his lap and listened to her breathe while he stared at the second coin for a few minutes, reflecting on his own fortunes.

"Not today, friend. Not today." The coin went back in his pocket for another time and place.

Jamie felt like she was swimming. She was in a deep pool, the surface so far above and the bottom somewhere in the darkness below. It was so peaceful and quiet, her body floating along with the currents in a lazy way and hardly any sense of motion. There was light above the surface of the water and she would go to it when it pleased her, but for the moment she felt like the place she was in was the best place anyone could be.

"You're weak."

The voice had come from somewhere in the water, but her attempts to locate the source only resulted in the same grayish views.

"You cannot do it alone."

"What?" Since the source refused to be seen, she decided to talk it out.

"You simply are not motivated enough. You might have seen the things I have, but you haven't experienced them. To you it's abstract: Like an art book. To me it's very real."

"Who are you?"

"You know. Deep inside you are the answers, the things you seek. But know something: trust no one. Relying on others will only get you hurt."

"I trust Michael." The voice was from the water itself, she realized. Whoever was talking to her was surrounding her in a place of comfort.

"He's the last person you should trust."

"He's the only person I _can_ trust. He's my brother; my only family." She was quickly tiring of this voice.

"He's lying to you about so many things, things that are important to you."

"He wouldn't do that! At least, he wouldn't do that unless he was protecting me."

"Michael serves himself... Everyone does. There is no collective salvation. Believe me, I know. I learned the hard way that everyone has to put their own lives first. He is no better than you, so why does his life take priority?"

"Because I love him. Because his life means something to me, and I have to protect it."

"You're a fool, just like I was. It only takes a moment for your life to change. In time, you will understand as I do. Until then, you must get stronger. Your life depends on it."

"You don't understand me at all."

"Think that if you like. We will meet again."

Jamie felt herself rocket upwards towards the light, the pressure building in her head until she thought it would burst. She reached her hand out towards the light and felt it break through the surface, then the light overwhelmed her.

Jamie blinked at the light streaming in from the window and turned away from it, trying to focus on her surroundings. Everything was blurry, an effect her mind was able to identify as recovering from the influence of a drug. Her sight slowly cleared and the environment slowly started to make sense. It was a hospital room. The smell of disinfectant, the incredibly clean sheets, the sounds of a monitor... It all made sense once she put it all together. Her back hurt some, she could not remember why, and her movements were all a struggle. She was also incredibly thirsty, but the water-pitcher and cup were out of her reach, seemingly miles away with her limited mobility.

There was something near her right hand and she felt it carefully, realizing the single button on top was the call-button for a nurse. She pressed it three times and relaxed again, feeling herself drained from the simple task. It was only a minute until the nurse arrived, carrying a chart and an assortment of items on a tray.

"Good morning, Jamie. How are we feeling?"

"Weak. I can't seem to move very well. I'm really thirsty." Her voice was almost a croak from how parched she was.

"I can help you with that. The doctor is going to be by in a few minutes, and I think I remember Michael saying he was going to stop in." She poured a glass of water and put a straw in it, holding it so Jamie could sip it until she was content.

"Thanks."

"I have to make my rounds now, but if you need anything, hit the button."

"Okay."

The nurse left and Jamie started focusing on piecing together her last memories. It was tough. The clearest thing that popped into her head was the walk in the park at night. The fountains were lit and it was a chilly night. Then... Then Michael's phone woke her up and she went in to see what was going on. He said something about a bomb.

"The bombing..." She could not remember it, but it was probably the only way she could have ended up here. The door opened and Doctor Bergonzi stepped in with her chart and it struck her as odd to see him alone. He was almost always in the lab with his assistants, the only time she saw him was when her implants had needed tuning.

"Hello, Jamie."

"Hi."

"You're doing quite well considering the damage you took." He sat down and hit the button to elevate the head of the bed, sitting her upright.

"I can't move much. It's like I have no strength."

"We disabled your implants during surgery since we were working near your spine. The damage there was considerable and we did not want you to suddenly wake up and try to move while we were fixing it. There's a few more tests we need to run before we reinitialize them, so please just bear with us for today."

"Alright." He rolled her halfway over and examined her back through the gown, his cold hands chilling her more on top of the cold air in the room. "What day is it?"

"Saturday. You've been out since your surgery on Wednesday."

"I need to get back to training soon." Jamie looked out the window at the training grounds, something whispering in the back of her head to get stronger.

"We'll see how you're doing in a couple of days. If you're able to walk around well enough, I'll see about releasing you, but until then you have to be patient."

"Patience is something I only have when I'm behind my scope."

"Well, you should learn to have it other times as well. Like this afternoon, for example. Michael will be in about three, you are going to have to hold out until then."

"How is he?" Her face betrayed genuine worry over him, even more now since she did not know the whole outcome of the event.

"His back was injured, but he's back up and moving again. I think he said he's working with the Intelligence teams on tracking the explosives."

"His back... I must have pushed him too hard." It came back suddenly, the realization that the truck she had heard was the bomb, and that she only had a moment to react. The only thing she could think to do was push him through the door, and through he had gone, in a splintering of wood and the slap of the door on the polished tile in the hallway. She had a moment to see it all before the blast caught her, the wet feel of blood soaking her back even as the pain hit her. Everything was blank after that, up until she awoke from her dream, a dream she could actually remember.

"We know you did not intend to hurt him, but you really must think things through."

"Sorry. It seems like everything I touch turns to action."

"Hm." Bergonzi's hands finished their traveling and he gently rolled her back to a resting position, and then filled out a few lines on her chart. "It's looking like things are healing nicely, Jamie, so just relax and rest as much as you can. Let us do the work here."

"Yes, sir."

The doctor left Jamie to her own thoughts, and as the light streamed in from the window, she thought about the dream and its message. Trust no one, a difficult thing to do when your life seems to depend on so many. The doctors, the handlers, the intel teams, the other cyborgs, and Michael. If she had to pick any one of the hundreds of people at the agency to spend her life with, it would be Michael. It was not the conditioning telling her to trust him. It was her own heart.

Until recently, she was not able to tell the difference between them, but his actions told her he was the one person in the world she could trust beyond all others. It would have been so easy for him to accept her offer the other day, to accept her as the woman he physically loves, and to use her for his own pleasure alongside the dangers of the work. It would be even easier to dispose of her in the line of duty and take on another. Her value to the agency was as property or asset, to be used and abused as needed until she simply cannot be used anymore.

Michael was not like that. Even when faced with a naked desire to be used as a form of love, he chose the more difficult road- that of equality and understanding. What she knew of his past was in conflict with the person she saw in his actions. He was still impulsive, as the killing of at least one person had shown, but he was not emotionally dead, or even cold. When his arms had closed around her in his bedroom and her eyes cried rivers onto his shoulder, he was open to her... He was the only person who would listen and understand what she had been trying to say in words and actions that had not come out right. Her plea to be one with him was the cry of her lonely heart, a cry he was able to see into and find the real meaning that was covered by the advances of her desperation.

No, Michael understood her perfectly, and she would trust him implicitly, no matter where he led her.

"How is she?"

The doctors were gathered around the break-room table comparing notes, their conversation mainly centered over the comatose Angelica. All looked up as Michael spoke, hobbling into the room with a cane, upright but wincing occasionally with a random step.

"Welcome back, Michael." Bianchi was always the nicest of the doctors, probably from actually being human at some point in his life. "Jamie is doing well. She will be walking around in a few days and probably able to go back to training in a week. You, on the other hand, do not look as well."

Michael waved him off as he found a seat. "I'll be fine in a few days. I was able to do a few sit-ups this morning, which is an improvement no matter how you look at it."

The doctors dismissed their gathering and exited leaving Michael alone with Bianchi and Belisario, the only two he really felt like he could trust.

"Michael..." Belisario decided to go first after he and Bianchi exchanged glances. The feel of the situation put Michael on edge.

"Something is wrong."

"Her memory is returning faster than I thought possible. The last test showed that almost twenty-five percent of the old memory locations have reactivated, an increase in the past few weeks well beyond what I would consider acceptable. Your continuing encounters with people, places and things related to her past is likely what is causing it."

"We've been busy, I'll admit. Its coincidental that we are crossing paths with her past." He lied and it was plain to see.

"You have to stop, Michael. The girl you know as Jamie is going to die if you persist with this...this vendetta."

"She'll be fine. She's come to terms with what she has encountered so far, even the knowledge that she was the victim of an assault. She's stronger than anyone here can understand, and with her determination, she's going to find out eventually. What happens will happen."

"It's going into my report to Lorenzo, Michael. I expect he will have her memory reworked again, so you need to be ready for that when it comes down."

Michael looked between them and struggled to stand, having had enough. "Jamie is my responsibility and I will do as I please with her. And I seriously doubt anything you do to her is going to be all that effective in the long term."

"Why is that?" Bianchi spoke up, curious about Michael's take on the matter.

"Haven't you seen it when you look at her?"

"Seen what?"

"Her spirit. She's not the type to be phased by anything medicine can do. Once it's in her head, it's there until she decides otherwise, and she's determined to know everything about who she is."

"You should deny her that." Belisario's words made even Bianchi grimace. "If not for her sake, then for yours. At some point she will learn what part you've had in this whole affair. How do you think she will deal with that?"

It was almost enough to make Michael change his mind on the whole thing. What he had done, by putting the girl into the place she was now, made him almost as guilty as those he hunted. It was the 'almost' part that was the defining line for him, and he would stand by Jamie until the day he died.

"I'll let her decide what my fate should be. I owe that much to her. File your report if you want... I know where my attentions should be." He stormed out of the room as best he could with the cane, then turned down the hall to see Jamie, something they both were looking forward to.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not paid to make decisions, Bianchi. I just help make the cyborgs." Belisario picked up his chart from the table and handed it to his colleague. "What do you make of this?"

It took Bianchi a moment to familiarize himself to the chart, but the data set was strange compared to what he was used to. "That's Jamie's?"

"Yes. That was yesterday's subconscious test."

"I've never seen a read like that. Are you sure she was out?"

"Positive. Something is in that head of hers, and I think it's trying to get out. I don't know what will happen if it does. Michael's playing with fire by helping her to remember, though, and I don't see how he could possibly avoid getting burned."

"I'm not so sure. I spoke with her earlier and I think she's made up her mind over him. They're siblings now, and I think she has stabilized emotionally."

"We'll see."

"Michael!" Her voice was full of enthusiasm but her limited mobility restrained her from what Michael was sure would have been a hug he would not survive. She did manage to sit up on her own from the partly inclined bed, something she had been working on for a while.

"Hi, Jamie. How are you?"

"I'm fine. They're going to run some tests before enabling my implants again." Her smile faded as he limped over, a look of sadness and shame taking its place. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You saved my life, Jamie."

"But I ended up hurting you again. I didn't mean to, but it happened anyway."

He made it to her bed and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight to him. She started to cry into his shoulder, a cry of relief that they were both okay and still together.

"You did fine, Jamie. I could have ended up like that poor woman that was with us, but you protected me." She continued to cry a few minutes longer and when she finally calmed down to speak, it was in whispers, barely audible to his ears.

"Michael... I've been having dreams. I can remember them and I'm starting to wonder what it means. Isn't that a sign that a cyborg is dying?"

"Shh... It doesn't mean a thing, Jamie. You're different than the first generation cyborgs. You're not going to die anytime soon. As to what the dreams are about, I want you to keep it to yourself until you're out of here. These walls have ears."

"Okay." The emotional burst was short and she quickly restored herself and it was one of those moments when Michael actually missed the relatively emotionless Jamie from months before.

"Feeling better?" He raised his voice back to normal for the microphones, getting their conversation going again.

"Yeah, thanks." She brushed her hair from her eyes and smiled at him. "When can I get back to training, Michael? Sitting here is getting on my nerves."

"The doctors said it would be a few days. I'll pick up a few things from your room for you to keep busy with. How about your guitar?"

"Too late, it's already here." Petrushka's English was sexy with her accent, a pleasant surprise from her as she stood in the doorway with Maria, Jamie's guitar case in hand.

"Petra! Maria!" Jamie waved them in as best she could. "I was hoping someone else would come to visit."

Michael felt a bit jealous at that comment. "I'm not good enough?"

"Of course you are, Michael. It's just nice to have the girls around sometimes." Her soft, warm smile showed just how much she thought of him.

"Well, I'll leave you three to chat. Ferro has me working like a dog to track those explosives down, so I need to get back to the books. Behave yourself for the doctors, Jamie, and I'll see you tomorrow when I get in."

"Don't leave..."

"Aww... Let him go, Jamie. You have us to keep you company." Maria hopped onto the end of the bed and started to pull the guitar out of its case. Jamie gave Michael a weak look, but firmed herself up emotionally, knowing he would be thinking of her as much as she was of him.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Jamie."

"You'd better be, or I'll find you, hospital bed or not."

"I promise." He escaped on that word and smiled as the horribly wrong chords of Maria's playing screeched through the halls, followed by the girlish laughter of the trio.

Chapter 19:Busy work

"The bomb was composed of a moderate amount of Semtex H, and was surrounded with metallic debris as shrapnel. This was all packed into an automated garbage truck and set to detonate outside the DCPP building, killing as many in the street as possible. There was also considerable damage done to the front of the building."

Ferro was as intense as Michael had ever seen, her body radiating a hostility her face was barely able to conceal.

"The Military police managed to pick up the perpetrators. A search of their base of operations yielded a stockpile of weapons and about a hundred more kilos of Semtex H." She held up a brick of the clay-like material, and then tossed it to Michael who looked carefully at the wrapping and then smelled his hands.

"New production and no chemical tag..."

"Looks like you were right, Michael."

"I wish I wasn't. Marco and Angelica are lucky to be alive."

"The chief is talking to the Minister and her answer will determine what we do from here on. At the least, we're going to start looking at the black-market channels more closely. At the worst, we're looking at an active role in the destruction of the Camorra factions involved. Keep your ears to the ground people. I want everything that turns up directed to my desk immediately, and any feelings like Michael had need to be brought to me directly. We are entering a dangerous time for our agency. The enemy is starting to figure out about the cyborgs, and while it was inevitable, a secret getting out is an extremely dangerous thing. Dismissed."

The others on the Intel team left the room but Michael knew that Ferro wanted to talk with him. He could see it in her eyes and as soon as the door closed behind the others, her face turned deadly serious.

"I read the report on Jamie. Lorenzo wants to know what you are thinking and what you have been doing to cause her damage. My sources in the state police have said that bodies are turning up in odd circumstances."

"People die, it's perfectly natural." He knew they would find out eventually, but he still needed more time to complete his mission. Now they were going to watch him more carefully, looking for any excuse to stop him.

"One of the latest victims was tied to a chair, had three bullets through his skull, and his arm was broken in a way that few humans could do."

"Some people die more painfully than others." His words and the scowl on his face were proof enough for Ferro that he and Jamie were the ones involved.

"Michael, do I need to tell you to review the employee handbook on the definition of 'Secret Organization'? We're out on a long limb as it is with the Minister, and all it takes is for something like a personal vendetta being pursued to leak to Section One and Draghi will have what he needs to shut us down."

"Like Jean and Jose?"

"That's different." Her loyalty to them surprised even her at times. She had responded without thinking and spoke her heart even though any amount of thought would have told her it was not different at all. The brothers' anger was directed primarily at the individual that bombed their parents, their sister, and Jean's fiancé, and nothing short of that person's death would satisfy them. Ferro understood Jose, and she could even relate to Jean for the most part, but while their quest was entirely personal, Michael's was self-imposed. He really did not have to do it, and that is what she had trouble understanding in him.

Michael read her face as she thought about exactly how different it was and could see that she knew it was not. "Yeah... Different, eh?"

She grabbed his arm as he started to walk out, spinning him around to look him in the eyes. It was not easy for her, with his head and shoulders height advantage and fairly powerful frame, but she was used to getting her way through sheer force of presence: The Ice-Queen routine.

"Michael, I'm saying this as a friend... Don't do this alone, you'll never make it." Vengeance was simple until you realize you're dealing with more than one person with a gun. After the first, things got complicated.

He did not seem phased by her words, perhaps even buoyed by them, the knowledge that people cared enough to try to talk him out of it. He smiled at her; a smile from a man who knew he was going to die, but he was going to go out his way or die trying. She had seen it before and even now it gave her chills.

"I'm not alone, Ferro, I have Jamie. She's training hard as we speak, and she won't fail anything again. She'll get stronger every moment until she dies. God help anyone who she comes across in the meantime."

"What will you do after that?"

Michael's look matched the chills she had.

"It won't matter, because I'll die with her. That's the story that will be written about us, Ferro." He left the room and Ferro exhaled the breath that had caught in her throat. There was really no stopping him from going down that course, but maybe she could delay it some. There was always more work to do in the SWA, after all, and if there was one thing he did well, it was the work.

The first thing Michael noticed was how cold Lorenzo's office was. It was probably the murderously inefficient windows opening to the courtyard behind him, as it was very cold today, even for the region, and Michael had to wonder how long it would be before the snow started coming down. Maybe Lorenzo liked the cold atmosphere and the way it seemed to personify the work that occurs in the office.

"Good morning, Christiansen. Have a seat, I'll be with you in a moment." He had not looked up from the report he was reading, a sign of just how heavy the work weighed on his mind at times. He was dressed quite warmly in a turtle-necked shirt and heavy vest and the comparison with his own attire only served to make Michael feel colder.

He finished the report and scribbled his signature, being his usual official self, and then turned his attention to Michael, watching him intently for several moments. He was deciding something, Michael figured, and it would be decided by what Lorenzo thought he saw in the man before him.

"You look well today. How is your back?"

"Better, sir, thank you. I'm back to my regular exercises and I have some shoot-house practice with Jamie set up for tomorrow. It's been a long two weeks, but I think I'm finally past it. The doctors say that I'll need a back-support for a few more weeks, but after that I should not have to worry about re-injuring it again."

"Good. And Jamie, how is she?"

"If you're referring to her mental state, she's doing quite well. She's had no outbursts or signs of instability, and her recovery from her injuries is complete. She's spent most of her time on the range, getting her shots tightened up with her rifle, and she's about equal to Rico now. I've arranged for some instructional time with a special-forces sniper I know from my days on The Farm. He's fond of money and knows how to keep his mouth shut, so there's no problem there."

"I'm glad to see I was right about your initiative." He sipped his coffee and picked up a file from the left side of his desk, opening it and handing Michael several pages stapled together. "I need you to wrap up your training by the end of the week. I'm assigning you to a mission next week that will involve your skills specifically and I want you to spend this week getting ready."

"Alone?" Michael flipped through the pages quickly noting that it was another job involving a leak in Section One. "Switzerland?"

"Section One's security check, I believe the CIA term is 'Mole Hunt', has uncovered a person in their ranks that may be compromised. The suspect is on an extended surveillance mission at that ski resort, and being that it is out of the usual realm of our influence, we suspect that they may be passing along information while there."

"Nice cover... A little difficult at times to pull off unnoticed, but manageable." Michael had seen it before.

"Your mission will be to find, observe, and evaluate whether the agent is turned. If not, you return at your discretion. If they are selling information, they are not to leave that resort alive. Keep it quiet if at all possible."

"I'll use my imagination." He tucked the pages back into the file that Lorenzo handed him. "I am to take Jamie with me?"

"Unless you feel she is not ready when you go to leave."

"She's ready now, but the week will certainly help."

"Very well, then. Have your mission profile on my desk before you leave on Friday. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

"How did it go?" Jamie stood from the chair she had been waiting on and fell into step beside him, brushing her hair back from her face. She was letting it grow out more and like Michael had thought before, it only made her more beautiful, and the longer length certainly added to the suit she was wearing.

"We've got a solo gig in Switzerland next week. We'll need to go shopping for cold-weather gear and re-sight your rifle for the colder weather. I'll help you work up some loads."

He stared straight ahead, Jamie noticed, locked into his mode of deep thinking. He was trying to see into the future to figure out the events today. He must have succeeded, she thought, as his face turned to one of amusement.

"So that's her game."

"Who?"

"Ferro. She knows about the Milan job and she's sending us to Switzerland to cool our heads."

"So what do we do?"

"We go to the land of neutrality, watches, and pocket knives. A delay only serves us in the long run, though it increases the difficulty. The more they have to work to notice us, the more likely it is that we'll spot them and turn it around."

"You make it sound like she's the enemy also." It was the programming, she knew, that made the thought of the agency being the bad guys so disturbing to her.

"She's just being concerned for us. It's endearing, really, but out of character for her. I think she's started to find me attractive... For some reason."

"I think you're imagining it." Jamie held the door for him and then followed, taking up a place a few steps left and behind.

"Could be, could be." The sun was rising towards mid-day but the clouds on the horizon promised snow before the evening would arrive. It was going to be a quiet night. "How about we hold the street simulation until a little later when it's snowing?"

Jamie looked at the sky and wondered why it seemed like such an obscure idea to her. "Snow... I remember snow, but I... I can't seem to remember what it feels like. Isn't that strange?"

"Hm?" Her memory was taking on some peculiar bits now and it was concerning him.

"I mean... I know that it's cold and melts in your hand and on your face, and that it clumps together and can be hard to walk through when deep. I know what snow _is,_ I just can't remember the feel of it."

He could see the trace of fear in her face, despite the fact that she had learned to cover it well. Maybe it was time to help her.

"Jamie..." He stopped her on the bridge that led to the training area, faced her square to him and put his hands on her shoulders, a sign she understood that meant he was talking from his heart. "It's possible some of the memory wipe took that away because of something that happened in the winter. Something painful that I probably should not tell you, but..."

He looked around at the scene around him, a scene that was about as un-movie-like an emotional scene as one could get. His hand slipped from her shoulder and into his coat pocket, pulling out the necklace he had been keeping there, waiting for the right moment.

"Do you remember this?" He let the cross slip through his fingers and let it dangle before her, watching her eyes and hands as they caressed it, taking in the shape and detail. The flashes of familiar feelings danced in her eyes but were quickly overcome with tears.

"I... I know I should remember it. I know I should, but I can't. It's in my head, but just out of reach." She clutched her head with her left hand, then pounded it gently with her fist, trying desperately to get the memory to come forward. "I can't find it! It's in there and it's close, but I can't get it!"

"Shh...Calm down, Jamie." His free hand slid across her shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her, giving a supporting hug. "I'll tell you where this came from. It was a gift from your father for your seventeenth birthday more than a year ago. He was on a trip to Europe and bought this, thinking only of you. It's valuable, one of only four hundred, and I can only guess at what he paid for it."

"My father..." Michael let it slip from his hand into hers and she continued to stare at it intently. "I don't remember anything. I get the feeling that the memories are trying to come to me, but nothing's there. Tell me more. You know my parents?"

"There's not much more that I can tell you, really. They died earlier this year in a car accident. I never met them."

"Is that how I ended up here?" The tears were still falling despite her efforts to stop them. "Was I injured in that accident and brought here?"

"No." He hugged her to him and let her cry on his shoulder as he looked around at the blue sky. "No, you were on your own after that, with only your friends as family. They were killed here in Europe. You nearly died also, but were brought here."

"So what you're telling me is that I'm alone in the world. No friends or family... Just me." He felt her shudder and clench tighter to him, the very idea of loneliness hitting her hard. The thought of being alone scared her immensely, and he could understand why.

"No, Jamie. You have me. You have Maria and Petra and the others. You're not alone anymore and I won't leave you."

"You promise?"

"Yeah. I promise."

Jamie continued to cry for a few minutes longer, a feeling of uncertainty creeping in with the way she simply could not remember the details of what he was telling her. She felt it was the truth, but the memories were just not there to make it real.

"I wish- I wish I could remember them." Her sobbing had settled into the weak, reflective voice Michael found so heartbreaking.

"I know. One day you will, and it will hurt more, but you'll find a way through it. You always have." He released her when she pulled away, but kept his hands on her shoulders, lending her his support.

"Why are you telling me this now?" She did not look up from the necklace in her hands, her thumb sliding gently over the gold surface.

"Because you have a right to know. And because the people we are fighting will use any means at their disposal to hurt you. Their very presence will bring things back in your mind, terrible things, and you need to be ready for it. Unfortunately, telling you is all I really can do. The rest is your own strength that you have to find."

"What if I'm not ready? What if I can't stop them?"

The question was finally in front of him. What if they failed and failed miserably. What if they were just another pair of notches in the belts of the psychos, and they went on hurting and killing more people?

"Then we'll die together. I can't say that we cannot fail, but I don't think it's likely their luck will hold any longer, especially against us. In case you haven't noticed, I lead a charmed life for the most part."

"A charmed life? Does such a thing exist?"

"Absolutely." He took the necklace from her and gently fitted it around her neck, the cold the gold had absorbed from the air making her jolt slightly as it touched her skin. When he pulled away, she took the cross in her hand again and stared at it for a moment before tucking it into her blouse, close to her heart.

"Thank you... Thank you for being so honest with me." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, and a feeling of self-hatred crept into him at how he had been hiding things from her, and still was.

"Don't thank me. What I've told you might bring a lot of problems later on."

"Then we'll fight through them. Together."

"Yeah."

"Lets go, Michael. We need to train harder." She wiped the tears from her cheeks and started towards the training grounds again.


	9. Chapter 20 to 21

Chapter 20: Emotions

The snow fell lazily from the sky, the small flakes melting as soon as they hit the ground...the first sign of winter. The street was eerily silent and the streetlights cast their glow, becoming spheres of yellow as the light hit the snow in the air. It was a picturesque scene, something from a novel or collectable calendar.

The scene was largely lost on Jamie as she snuggled into her coat for warmth, her heels clicking on the pavement as she walked, her legs nearly numb from the cold seeping through her stockings. Michael pulled her closer, drawing her into the shelter of the wall as they walked, seeking protection from the wind.

"I hate wearing this. My legs are cold."

"You have to learn to fight no matter what you wear. Sometimes you'll have to do it in a skirt and heels."

"I'm starting to wonder about you-"

Jamie strained to identify the noise she had heard. Her hand slipped into her coat and her Walther came out in a flash as her left hand shoved Michael against the wall behind her, his own hand already reaching for his Smith.

Jamie's gun fired twice and she spun around, firing five rounds at two men that had appeared behind them. Michael's gun was out and he fired at an assailant that fired from a shop, the window shattering onto the sidewalk. Michael's target went down with a scream and he turned towards a new threat that had appeared on a rooftop perch, aiming a rifle at them.

"MOVE!" Jamie leapt into the street and to the opposite side, stumbling as her heel caught on the curb but recovering quickly and eliminating two targets as they rushed from a doorway. She rolled and fired through a nearby window at another attacker, grinning as he fell backwards into a table, upsetting it with a crash.

Michael dashed up the street to a brick sidewalk planter, diving behind it even as the bullets from the rifle narrowly missed his head, hitting the wall behind him.

"Well, shit..." He crawled forward and peered around the corner of the planter, nearly getting a new ear when a shot smacked the pavement just above his head. "Jamie! I'm pinned down!"

Jamie's head snapped right and she saw the planter where he was hidden and heard the shots from the roof above her. Another man stepped from the shadows and raised his AK but she was too fast, her Walther lancing five rounds into him in an instant. She loaded her last magazine and raised her gun, stepping slowly from the sidewalk and into the street, firing as soon as the sniper's body came into view.

"You're clear!" She had no sooner said it than a burst of rifle fire caught her in the chest, stitching her diagonally. She felt the thumps of the rounds hitting her and looked down at her chest and the red spots that had appeared, her mouth agape in what could only be surprise and pain.

Michael rolled out of his cover and fired three rounds into Jamie's killer, who hit the ground only a second after she had. Michael stood slowly and walked to Jamie's side. She was lying on her side, curled up and clutching her chest.

"Jamie?"

"It hurts..."

"I think you're over-acting a bit, don't you?"

She rolled over and sat up, still holding the spot on her chest where the simunition rounds had hit.

"It's a sensitive area, Michael, and regardless of how less-lethal the shots were, it still hurts."

"Quit being such a baby." He offered her a hand up and she accepted, climbing lightly to her feet and rubbing her left breast where one of the paint splotches marked the hit. Several halogen floodlights suddenly lit up the mock street and the 'dead' rose to their feet, gathering together around the center of the training area.

The simunition training allowed for an agent's real guns to be used with a modified barrel and springs, and fired a hard-rubber bullet with a paint charge from a standard brass case. With enough padding they tended to hurt. Less padded areas often received a massive welt and a few days worth of bruising, a good reason to avoid being hit with them if possible. The enemies were all wearing padding and helmets for protection, but the defending fratello was not, the better to simulate real life.

Michael watched the sniper climb down a rope from the roof and tossed an empty AK magazine at him, catching him in the back just as he hit the ground. "Damn it... You nearly got me in the head this time!"

"Well, you need to move faster, Christiansen, so I don't get that close." His laugh made it clear he didn't care about the standing rule to avoid aiming at the head.

Several guns raised and he was pelted with numerous shots from the assembled group for his breach of the rules, many of the shots hitting his less-padded legs and arms, a guarantee of days of agony.

Satisfied, Michael holstered his Smith and turned his attention back to Jamie who was staring at her red-splotched jacket and blouse. "Are you really okay?"

"Yes... I won't forget this though."

The range-master stepped over and handed Michael the results of the test. All of the bad guys took fatal hits, Michael had none, and Jamie was listed as fatally wounded. The five spots on her chest were from a rifle at reasonably close range, and thus were likely to penetrate the armor in her chest cavity, whose design was only rated to absorb low-velocity rifle and most pistol ammunition.

"You're dead, Jamie."

"But you lived. I don't consider that a failure on my part. If you don't want me to die protecting you, you shouldn't get yourself stuck like that."

"Hm." He had watched her as she spoke and saw that she was just stating a fact as she saw it, not talking back. He even had to admit that she was right for the most part. There had been a couple of other places he could have sought cover from the sniper, both of which would have been easier for him to escape or attack from.

"Point taken." He turned and addressed the group that had assembled in the cold and falling snow for their sake. "Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate your help tonight and there will be two cases of beer in the lounge for you tomorrow evening. Dismissed."

"I hope this stuff washes out." Jamie pulled the cloth away from her chest and felt the paint on her skin where it had soaked through.

"You're better off just getting a new one. I don't think it'll stain your suit though. We'll get it dry-cleaned tonight. There's one by my apartment that is open twenty-four hours."

"Sounds good." She stumbled again in her heels and he caught her, smiling at her frustration. "Who says I have to be feminine anyway?"

"I do, and I know in your heart that you do as well."

"As if I need heels. I'm tall enough to stick out in a crowd as it is." With her heels she was as tall as he, a somewhat intimidating feeling for him, which is how he wanted it. If she could intimidate him, she could intimidate anyone.

"We'll get you some flats to go with them, Jamie. Just bear with me for a little longer."

"Okay."

Michael's phone started to ring and he glanced at the number before flipping it open. "Hi, Tanya."

"Michael. I hope that information was helpful. I'm sorry to hear it wasn't in time to stop the bombing, though. Everyone alright?"

"I can't discuss it over the phone right now."

"Well, that's to be expected." Michael thought he heard a small laugh in her voice. "What are you doing now?"

"Well, Jamie and I are about to head back to my apartment after we drop off some dry-cleaning."

"Well, do you have time to pick me up at Termini Station? I'd get a cab but I don't speak the local language."

"You're here?"

"Yes. I came back into the continent and I just had to see you."

He looked at Jamie who was eyeing him with suspicion, her keen ears likely having heard Tanya's words.

"Okay. It might be a while, but we'll be there. Just hang out and try not to look suspicious."

"Me? I've already declined a couple of evening invitations from local guys. They're just all too short for my tastes."

"Well, hold them off a little while longer. We'll be there."

"Ciao, darling."

He hung up and tried his best to ignore Jamie's look of displeasure.

" 'Darling'?"

"It's not how it sounds." He started walking a bit faster towards the dorms so Jamie could change.

"Oh? For a ship passing in the night she certainly seems to have made a three-point turn back in your direction."

"Jealous?"

"No. Concerned. You said goodbye forever once already, how are you going to top that for the second?"

"I see your point." They stopped in front of the dorm and Michael nudged her towards the door. "Hurry up and get changed. I'll be right here."

"Okay. Don't leave without me."

Jamie watched until Michael settled against his car and then ran through the dorm to her room, nearly falling on the stairs in her heels. Maria casually looked up from her book when she burst in the bedroom door, gasping for air and her blouse half off already.

"In hurry, Jamie?"

"Sort of."

Maria watched her friend strip and could only marvel at the five red marks on Jamie's chest, the welts from the simunitions.

"Bad night on the range?"

"Yeah. Got taken down by an AK while protecting Michael." Jamie paused halfway through pulling her stockings off and stared at Maria.

"What?"

"I'm meeting Michael's old girlfriend tonight. What do you think, girlish jeans and t-shirt? Or dress and heels?"

"Petra's the one you should be asking, but I would say dress and heels if you're looking to compete." She went back to her reading without further though to the question.

"I'm not looking to compete. Am I?"

"Hmm... Sure sounds like it."

"It can't hurt, right?"

"Probably not."

"Okay."

"Okay, Michael!"

Michael looked up to see Jamie in a black, knee-length taffeta shirt-dress, button fronted with a belt and her heels, the heels she seemed to loathe so much. It was a choice that made him wonder briefly just how sister-like she was sticking to.

"Nice...Conservative yet attractive. Not so dressy as to look like a night out, but not homely casual either. Why the heels, though?"

"A dress without heels?"

"Ah, sorry. I like it." He held the car door for her and she climbed in with a smile from the praise she received. He climbed in his side and started the Jag.

"You're not determined to best Tanya, are you?"

"No, not at all. Why?"

"Well, as interesting as it would be to watch, I don't know if you could beat her."

"I'm not good enough?" Michael knew he had hit the mark with the tone of her voice.

"It's not that. You're good, Jamie, that's all there is to it. But Tanya is... Tanya has an incredible natural beauty to her, so much so that she has to cover it up at times. I've seen perfectly straight women fall in love with her. She's just got that glow about her."

"I think you're imagining things again."

"Maybe..." He pulled out onto the highway and made his best time to Termini station.

The clock struck ten as Michael stepped onto the concourse at Termini Roma, the focal point for most of the movement in Italy and much of Europe. The feel of the place was lively, even this late, but Rome was a modern city with a modern city timetable: Open twenty-four seven.

He stopped by a pedestal, one of the many that housed advertisements for God-knows-what, and leaned against it, carefully looking over the crowd for a glimpse of Tanya. In the years that they played the spy game together, he had never failed to pick her out of a crowd in an airport or train station.

"You're getting sloppy, dear." A pair of hands slipped around his waist and Tanya put her head on his shoulder, blowing gently in his ear. He jerked away reflexively and turned to face her, a startled look on his face.

"Aw, don't look so shocked. I watched you come in the door and stalked you over here."

"You need to be more careful, Tanya. My partner is a bit touchy with non-agency people."

"Huh?" Tanya spun around and caught a dangerous look in the eyes of a young woman in a dress, her hand in her purse and an aura of death surrounding her. She was deadly, Tanya could tell, and she was less than ten feet away, having snuck in at some point without her knowing. Tanya smiled at the irony of the situation and pulled away from Michael, keeping her hands in view. "Maybe I'm getting old too."

"Jamie, stand down. She's a friend."

"Yes, Michael." The words were almost robotic to Tanya's ears, suggesting hypnosis or drug control. The girl calmed noticeably at his words and walked a short distance away, taking up an over-watch of the entrance, but continued to glance back at the pair at regular intervals. She was watching everything.

"That's Jamie?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that. She's trained to treat every contact with me as a possible threat unless otherwise told. I've identified you as a friendly that can be trusted, so she's not likely to hurt you now."

"Scary eyes, Michael. Cute dress, though. Do you always dress her that way?"

"It's her choice. I give her every freedom I can. The agency takes enough as it is."

"Hmm." Tanya turned her attention back to Michael, looking him over carefully and deciding she liked what she saw. "You look well."

"So do you. Life back in the states boring you?"

"Definitely. I've decided I hate desks, so when they gave me the chance to come back to Europe, I jumped at it."

Michael led the way and Jamie fell in behind the pair, carefully watching past them at people beyond. He was not sure why she seemed so tense, but suspected it was a show of force for her perceived rival that was walking next to him. Despite their talk and promise to be siblings, she was still holding on to her feelings for him. They were just buried deeper down.

"The car is down the street some ways. There's a small restaurant there we can hit up if you're hungry."

"Some coffee would be great right now." They exited the terminal and Jamie stepped ahead to take up a protective position there. She was trying hard to act casual but her motions were not nearly as smooth as she thought.

"Jamie."

At Michael's voice she stopped and looked back, allowing them to catch up.

"Relax a little. Between the three of us, we could take on an army. You don't have to be so defensive tonight." He put his hands on her shoulders and patted them roughly, shaking her a little and smiling, something that always seemed to help her.

"Okay."

"Say, Jamie...I'm going to be in town a few days, so why don't we go shopping together?" Tanya was taking up a big sister approach, much to Michael's surprise. "You can show me the best places."

It had caught Jamie off-guard and she recoiled slightly, adjusting to the new approach and deciding what to do. Her eyes went to Michael who was smiling at her, so he must have thought it was a good idea.

"Um...I don't really know all that many, but if you want to I can."

"Alright. Tomorrow it is!"

"Hm." Michael's sound was of concern and made Jamie snap her head forward to see what it was that bothered him. A small gang of five thugs was walking towards them, crudely commenting and ogling the women they passed. It was clear from a glance that they were on the prowl for an easy mark, either female or monetarily.

Jamie started to step ahead of Michael but he pulled her back, taking the lead himself and feeling perhaps a bit frisky with two attractive women beside him. The gang caught sight of the ladies and their eyes lit up as expected, unable to resist the tall, beautiful, and unknowingly deadly women.

"Jamie, you are to stand-down."

"But- Yes, sir." It was difficult for her, he could tell, but she knew enough to listen.

The groups merged and Michael refused to back down, intending to force his way through the center of the pack if they refused to give way. They did not, as he expected, and he stopped as two of them blocked his path.

"Out of the way, punks."

"Jesus, Michael..." Tanya didn't understand what he said in Italian, but she caught the tone and knew him well enough that she knew what was coming. She put her hand to her forehead and shook it, marveling at how he was intent on showing off for her.

"Hey! We seem to have a real tough-guy here who thinks he can just walk over us."

"Please, spare me your attitude. Move aside and walk away."

"Fucker! You're looking for trouble, aren't you?" He grabbed Michael's collar and shoved him roughly against the wall, his friends spacing out to surround the girls.

"Maybe. Seems like you are too, so I guess we both found what we're looking for tonight." He could see past the goon to Jamie, who was holding her guise as an innocent young woman in spite of a direct physical challenge to her handler.

"How about paying us to let you and your girls go?"

"How about I fuck you up and walk away without paying? Aw... Doesn't sound like a deal to you?"

"Michael, it's clear that they have no clue as to what they are dealing with, so I see no point in continuing this discussion with them. We should just walk away." Tanya kept a wary eye on two of the men who had just entered her personal comfort zone from behind.

"An American bitch! Maybe we should take the girls and his money, boss." This was said in accented English for Tanya's sake, obviously trying to intimidate her.

"How does that sound, Mr. Bad-ass? We take the girls and your money, and let you crawl away." He was right up in Michael's face, his breath stinking of booze and cigarettes and rotting teeth.

"I doubt the girls would be keen on the idea. You see they aren't real fond of strangers touching them, certainly not in an inappropriate manner. Perhaps I could offer you a mint instead?"

"Fucker!" He pulled Michael back and shoved him roughly against the wall again, probably expecting him to be dazed and intimidated. Michael was actually enjoying it a bit, since it had been quite a while since he'd had to play weak in the face of toughs.

He was about to fire off his final remark regarding the punk's upbringing when one of the others made the mistake of grabbing Jamie's arm and slipping a hand up her dress. Her hand latched onto his wrist and she squeezed her fingers into the pressure point there, making him wince in pain. She locked her eyes on Michael, waiting for instructions.

"Michael, I don't think these men understand the severity of their position." She squeezed a bit harder on the wrist and looked the man in the eyes, her rage starting to come to a head. "Remove your hand from my skirt, or you won't have one anymore."

Another punk, starting to feel the weight of the situation, flipped out a four-inch knife, tensing to strike at Tanya if she moved suspiciously.

"Michael, are you doing this for my benefit, or is this something you do on a nightly basis."

"Think of it as a gift, Tanya. A little evening excitement, perhaps?" He looked to Jamie who was still locked on him, waiting. "Try not to hurt them too badly, Jamie."

Several of the faces turned in time to see her smile wickedly, the situation having already been decided by her. "I'll try not to."

The bones in the punk's wrist crunched as she spun around, the scream of pain sounding loudly in the street. She leveraged his arm behind him, reared back, and planted her heel in his back, kicking him face-first against the wall, knocking him unconscious and leaving a splotch of blood on the brickwork. She spun to confront the second man, his hand reaching for a knife in his pocket. She struck quick and trapped his arm in his coat, then pushed him back against a car, bending him backwards over the hood and planting her knee into his groin, the force of the blow denting the quarter panel of the car and nearly making the thug faint with the pain. She let him slip to the ground, doubled over and crying for his mother, and turned her attention to the other three men facing off with Michael and Tanya.

Tanya hunched down slightly and readied herself to strike, staring down the two men before her. She felt alive again, the adrenaline flowing strong through her veins, her hands tense and ready.

"Are you going to use that knife, punk? Or are you going to run like the coward you are?"

"Bitch!" He lunged, trying to stick her with it but she was too quick, grabbing his wrist, twisting his arm around and forcing it to drop the knife, then planting her palm into his face, breaking his nose in a spray of blood. She held onto the arm and kicked her leg out, pulling his leg out from under him and laying him flat on his back on the pavement, his head striking hard and dazing him.

The other thug was on her from behind and she was pulled to her feet and backwards, an arm around her throat, making her gasp for air. She twisted her foot and made him stumble over it, landing against the wall hard and loosening his grip enough for her to free up an arm. She elbowed him in the head twice, then twisted from his hold, shoving him against the wall again, then round-housed him with her foot, sending him stumbling to the side and to the sidewalk, unconscious before he hit.

Michael had enough time to see the girls each take out their first targets, then turned his attention to his own problem who was already feeling the heat.

"Now you've done it." The thug's arms were up and still holding his lapels, his body close enough to prevent Michael from kicking him away. The only thing Michael could think of was to jam his thumbs into the armpits of the man, jabbing the sensitive nerves there with all of the leverage his own arms could get off of the wall, and pushing him away to gain some distance. It was only an annoyance of a pain, though and the thug whipped out a knife, fixing to stick it in Michael.

"Hmph... Some punks never learn." Michael reached into his coat and pulled his Smith&Wesson out, making sure the guy got a good look at the business end of the barrel, mere inches from his head. "Never bring a knife to a gun fight, son. You'll only get your ass shot."

"Oh, shit!" The punk was stunned, not by the gun, but by the look in Michael's eyes; a cold, careless look that one would give a cockroach as they stomped it. He was nothing in the eyes of the man before him, and he would die as nothing if it were his will.

"Now... Drop the knife." It clattered to the sidewalk by his feet, practically thrown there. "Apologize to the ladies for yours and your friends' crude behavior."

Tanya had stepped next to Jamie, stooping momentarily to wipe the blood off of her hand on an unconscious body.

"I'm-I'm sorry..."

"Good. You've earned the right to continue breathing for now. I suggest you get your friends up and off the street before the cops get here. Now stand aside."

The thoroughly cowed thug stood against the wall and let the trio pass, finally noticing the massive wet spot in his jeans that had appeared about the same time Michael's gun had.

"Bye-bye." Tanya waved as she passed the thug and Jamie merely looked at him with her cold eyes, evaluating him for any remaining danger and finding none. They took up places on either side of Michael and a small throng of onlookers stood aside for them.

"Hmph. Why didn't you just pull the gun on him from the start, Michael?" Tanya sipped her coffee and kept an eye on the door in case trouble followed them in. "You left me and Jamie to duke it out, so I was hoping to see some of those classic moves you've always claimed to have."

"Sorry to disappoint. I just figured that he wasn't worth a busted-up set of knuckles. I was so hot to get into it with him, but it just kind of fizzled when I saw that there really wasn't a contest. It was... It was almost like I felt sorry for him. His gang of toughs was taken down by a couple of unarmed girls. Admittedly both are incredibly talented in the ways of pain, but it just seemed so pathetic at the moment he pulled that puny knife on me, I just couldn't bear to bust him up. Better to just shoot him and end it there."

Michael sipped his own coffee and tapped a coin on the table distractedly, his eyes on Jamie as she watched the back of the cafe. The blue eyes turned and met his and she paused in her movement, looking for a read on his thoughts. She could tell that something was bothering him. A glance at Tanya and Jamie found a similar look. Both were questioning themselves on something they were feeling, a situation that started to make her nervous that she might be missing something.

Tanya finally pushed it from her mind and turned back to the conversation at hand.

"It felt good, you know. Better than sex, even." She tapped out a Marlboro and lit it with her favorite Zippo, a memento of a very special night at a Chinese drug factory. "It's been a long time since I've beat the hell out of some scum for the fun of it. Come to think of it, the last time was that stake-out in The Hague, with you."

"That was a night to remember." Michael saw Jamie's face sadden, feeling left out of the conversation, or more like she was not important. "I've told you that Tanya taught me the finer points of Eastern European 'relations', but I don't think I mentioned just how serious she was back then. We didn't get along at all."

"Eh?" She looked between Michael and Tanya, seeing the obvious chemistry between them and finding it hard to believe.

"It's true..." Tanya rested her chin in her hand, her arm supporting it on the table in a bored manner. "He was a serious pain in my ass."

"So what changed?"

"Nothing." It was the bored and monotonous way Tanya delivered it that made Jamie laugh. "No really, he hasn't changed."

"I have too."

Jamie could tell Michael was starting to feel the pressure of an old girlfriend telling stories. She could not let him ruin this perfect opportunity to figure something about him out. She had to hear more.

"C'mon, tell me more, Tanya. What made you fall in love with him?"

The woman tossed her long, blonde hair off her shoulder and puffed her cigarette, her eyes staring off towards the wall as she sought the answers.

"I guess it was how he was so like myself. At times he was strong, impenetrable, courageous... At others, he was soft and gentle: A comfort in the night. That and he's..." She held her hands a specific distance apart but Jamie did not seem to understand the significance, shaking her head at the gesture. "He's got what it takes to make a woman happy."

Jamie choked on the sip of coffee she had taken and started laughing, her face turning red with the embarrassing nature of the comment.

"You're exaggerating, Tanya." He smiled at her, one that received a familiar one in return.

"Maybe..."

Jamie had finally caught her breath and calmed down, but still wondered what it was they had found together.

"Seriously. I want to know why you two loved each other." She watched as the two stared at each other's faces and she could almost feel it, the connection between the two. It was not as dead as Michael had said, even if he had convinced himself of its demise. The look was lasting forever and it was at that moment that Jamie envied Tanya for her position in Michael's life. She was the one woman who could look into his eyes and read him: mind, body, and soul. She connected to him on the emotional level that she herself could not, and it frustrated her, but she was also happy for Tanya in a way she could not understand.

"Why?" Tanya glanced at Jamie momentarily to gauge whether she could comprehend the answer, one that could only make sense to two people in love. It was worth a try and after a look at Michael for permission, she held out her hand to Jamie. "Take my hand."

Jamie started to, then shrank back and looked at Michael, questioning him silently on whether she should accept. He was smiling softly, almost nostalgically, and nodded approval for her, so she summoned her courage and gently placed her hand in Tanya's, the softness and warmth of her hand startling at first, but a welcoming feeling started to sink in as Tanya's other hand was placed on top.

"This is hard to explain, but here it is..." Tanya closed her eyes and sighed, seeking the words. "There comes a point, in our line of work, when we start to lose our humanity. It's a troubling time, filled with fear, anger, and the coldness that our minds hide deep inside. It seeks to overwhelm us, to throw us into the ocean of the lost, the place where there is no hope. You become an unfeeling robot, mindlessly carrying out the mission, piling up the bodies, and feeling nothing at the horrors that you've done.

"Michael had to stop me from killing a small child that had wandered onto our scene one day. I was dead inside: a complete and utter machine, one that could not see past the bottles of booze and pills I was downing each night. The kid found us in an alley and I raised my gun at that innocent face, ready to pop him into eternity without a thought. It had become so automatic, the sights lining up and the trigger breaking at just such a tension. The problems would cease to exist after the shot. That's how I spent those weeks.

"Michael stopped me. He threw himself on me and screamed for the kid to get away, to run for his life. I was so angry with him for stopping me. The rage I had built up at myself came out and I tried to kill him then and there, trying to splatter his brains on the pavement. He fought me like a mongoose, making quick strikes to wear me down and weaken my resolve, and the whole time he was telling me to calm down and think about what I was doing. He finally managed to pin me down, his entire body and his hands holding mine to my chest. I was seething, practically foaming at the mouth with anger, but he had worn me down. With the way I had been treating my body at that time, I no longer had any strength to fight.

"I lay there, looking up at the darkening sky, feeling my consciousness slowly ebbing away and realizing that I really could not feel anything. I was numb inside and out, and as the rain started to fall on my face, I wanted to cry at my place in life, but could not."

Tanya moved their joined hands to Jamie's cheek, the girls startled look a contrast to the seemingly placid one on Tanya's face. "Michael did this to me. He took my hands in his and held them up to my face, letting me feel the warmth in them. I was scare at that moment, the fear of my weakness finally settling in, and his touch calmed me, the warmth in his hands started to seep into my own. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt warmth. I don't remember much after that. I must have finally blacked out because I woke up the next morning in bed with him."

"You took advantage of her?" Jamie's eyes actually glared at Michael with the thought.

"No... No, he had been holding onto me all night as I cried about absolutely everything. It was when he related everything that had happened, that I had said, with such a concerned tone, that I realized that I was in love with him. He was there for me through the next several days also."

"What happened then?"

"I started detox-ing. Between the pills and the booze, my body reacted horribly when I started to cut off. I have to say that it was the worst thing I've ever experienced." She let go of Jamie's hands and returned to her coffee, sipping thoughtfully. "Not exactly the big bad woman I seem to be, huh?"

"There's no reason we can't be tough _and_ in tune with our emotions. So long as they don't get in the way, there's no reason to hold them back."

"Hmph, Michael told you that, didn't he? That's the same thing he told me that night, but he doesn't understand how hard it is to be a woman in this game. Anyone can be a spy, but being an operative is a lot harder." She lit a fresh cigarette. "Making people dead, now that's an art form."

"So you two were close after that?"

"Yeah. We propped each other up as best we could."

"And with that," Michael stood and dug some money out of his pocket, tossing it on the table, "With that, the story is over."

"What? You can't stop there! I want to hear more."

Tanya put her jacket on and tucked her smokes into the pocket, smiling at Jamie. "Sorry, kid, the rest is a bit too mature-rated for you."

"I'm not a kid, so stop treating me like one!"

"Then stop pouting and come on," Michael said with a grin, leading the way to the door.

Jamie stood with a huff and started towards the door, unconsciously checking her purse for her gun as she walked. Tanya let Michael hold the door for her, smiling at the gesture, and led him out into the snowy night.

"It's been a long time since I've felt like this..." Tanya's voice trailed off as she gazed at the snowy sky.

"Hm, it's unseasonable weather. It usually doesn't snow in Rome until January."

"It reminds me of home. I stopped in to see my parents while I was in the States. They asked what happened between us."

"What did you tell them?"

"That we had different ideas of what the future held." She stomped out her cigarette as they reached Michael's Jag, then let him open the door for her.

"Hm." He let Jamie climb into the backseat on his side, climbing in after and starting the car. "I think we need to discuss this in detail."

The apartment's lights were dimmed and Jamie had just clicked Michael's bedroom door behind her, leaving he and Tanya on the couch, their mutual silence being of the same variety as the one they had shared in Prague not too long ago. They sipped their drinks and listened to the clock in the corner tick away, the hour hand ticking over to midnight before either felt like talking. She laughed softly and it drew his attention to the smile on her lips and the thoughts that brought it forth.

"What?

"She's cute. I never pictured you for the big brother type, but somehow she's a fit for you. Maybe it's the way you both seem so similar."

"How's that?" Michael was not disputing it, but wondered how she could see it in such a short time of observation. Jamie took her behavioral cues from him, much to the Agency's disappointment, but it was not that obvious. Was it?

"Your eyes, Michael. You communicate your thoughts in a glance, the sign of a well-meshed team. It goes for lovers as well. You and I had that between us."

"Yeah."

Tanya put her elbow on the back of the couch and rested her head against her hand, watching his every move. He had grown silent again, a sign that his mind was chewing on something his heart could not figure out.

"What's wrong, Michael?"

"Nothing, it's just... difficult."

"What, me?" She put her hand on his arm and was glad that he did not pull away as she expected.

"No, her." His head nodded towards the bedroom.

"Why? She seems sweet and deadly, the type you like. I have to admit that I could never imagine you as someone's big bother, but I think she's done something good for you. You're more focused on how you feel, and that's not something to be afraid or upset about."

"It's not that. She's- She's in love with me. She has managed to contain it deep down, and she says that she has accepted that we are like siblings, but I can feel it when she looks to me for help, or when she cries."

"Have you considered the fact that you are an incredibly handsome man, powerful and unyielding in the face of danger- a rock of hope in a sea of despair? She adores you because you are the one person in her life that hasn't failed her. Faced with the enormity of that, no woman could help but love you."

Her hand had slid down his arm and into his, the touch electric and inviting at the same time.

"And if I do fail her sometime? How will she react to that?"

"She'll probably love you more in order to give you strength. She knows her place or she would not have accepted me tonight as quickly as she did. She is jealous, yes, but she wants you to be happy and even she knows that some things between you two are not possible. She's like the neighbor girl that is the childhood friend, who has to accept that he simply does not reciprocate her feelings. The hope will remain, but the reality is not ignored. It's tough, but that's the way it has to be. Until he comes to her, she'll remain at a distance."

Michael raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, watching the way she started to blush from the act. "You're still the smartest woman I know."

"Be honest, Michael... You've never been particularly interested in my brains. It's always been the many other qualities that I bring to the bedroom."

"And I'm sorry for that. I've always known you were smart, but I never really bothered to listen to what you had to say." His senses were keyed up in the primordial way that men get in the presence of an attractive woman and he leaned closer, gently placing his hand to her cheek and smiling as the memories flooded back at the scent of her perfume, the way her lips parted for air as her heart raced.

She looked him in the eyes and stayed there, questioning him as to whether it was something he would regret later on. She knew she would not.

"Stop feeling sorry for everything and kiss me."

Dawn was shedding it's gray light through the windows and Michael leaned forward slightly to kiss the top of Tanya's head as gently as he could, trying hard not to disturb her from her sleep, afraid she might fall off of the couch as she lay in front of him, her silky back nestled against his bare chest. It was not the most comfortable place to conduct business, but neither of them had minded it.

His movements must have been too much because she stirred from her slumber, snuggling into the pillow and his body further for warmth.

"Go back to sleep, Michael. Just stay here with me like this forever."

"I'm sorry, but I have to get ready for work." He kissed her bare shoulder and moved his lips to her neck, planting one there before meeting her lips when she turned her head.

"Mmm... You never asked why I came here."

"I figured you'd tell me whenever you felt like it."

"Oh. Well, I came here to feel safe."

"What?"

"The only place I've ever really felt safe from everything was in your arms, Michael, and I had to come here to see you."

"Tell me what's wrong."

"It's what I told you on the phone. I have this feeling that I can't seem to shake off. I was hoping that being in your arms would calm my nerves, but I don't think it has."

"What feeling is it?"

"I'm not sure. Dread, despair...just this general feeling of a cloud hanging over me. It's been keeping me up at night and the boss attributed it to my coming back into the states after being abroad for so long. He suggested I come back to Europe to see if it fixed it, but it only got worse as the days wore on, so I came to you for help."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help." He hugged her tight, wishing he could do more to ease her concerns.

"You've done plenty, Michael. Everything aside, I really needed to be with you again. You make me a whole person, and I can't live without you anymore."

"I'm sorry things didn't end up like we thought they would in the beginning. It's my fault."

"Stop being sorry and just say that you love me."

"I love you, Tatyana Sokolov. I always have, in spite of my foolishness."

"I love you too, Michael. I always will."

There was a loud click as the bedroom door opened and Jamie walked out wearing only Michael's robe. Tanya pulled the blanket up a bit further as Michael leaned up and watched Jamie step into the kitchen to start the coffee maker.

"Morning."

"Hmph." From the tone of the scoff, Michael could tell that she was tired and in a bad mood.

"Sleep well?"

"No." She set out three mugs and added the additions to her and Michael's, then laid her head on the counter tiredly to wait on the coffee. "Next time you have someone over, at least mention to me what you have planned."

"Huh?"

"I was woken up by a loud scream and came to the door with my gun to check it out. You were obviously too busy to notice me. I don't really care what you do, just try to keep it down so I can sleep, and steam-clean the couch before I sleep there again."

Tanya smiled and Michael started to blush.

"You know, Michael," she said with a smile. "I don't think I ever really noticed that you were a screamer before."

"Are you complaining?"

"No. Absolutely not." She kept smiling but finally decided that modesty was the least of the concerns at the moment, especially when her clothes were scattered around the room. She sat up, letting the blanket fall away from her body as she reached for her blouse on the coffee table.

Jamie glanced up at the movement and watched Tanya, her eyes locked on the nearly flawless body with some degree of envy. The only real flaw, if it could be called that, was a pale scar just below her right breast. It seemed so out of place that she could not help but stare, even after Tanya looked up and noticed.

"Thinking of joining the other side, Jamie?"

"Hm...What?" She did not understand the comment, having never heard it before.

"Do you like what you see?"

"Uh...No. I just- I just couldn't help but notice the scar." She turned around in embarrassment and poured the coffees, handing one to Tanya when she finished dressing and stepped over. Michael grabbed his clean clothes and stepped into the bathroom to shower, leaving the women to their conversation.

"It's from my first boyfriend in high school. I went to junior prom with him and a party afterwards, and he slipped me a drug and forced himself on me." The coffee was strong, the way Michael always made it, and it helped relieve some of the weariness from the night's action.

"I woke up in the morning, realized he had violated me, and confronted him, deciding that the school's best softball player had to kick his ass to even begin to set things square. After I put him on the ground, he pulled a knife and stuck it in me. He was lucky that I finished him off so quickly after my punctured lung collapsed, because if I had to do it again, I would have made him truly suffer."

"What happened?"

"Well, I was cleared of murder on the grounds of self-defense, since I obviously didn't stick myself in the lung, but the civil case nearly broke me. His family suggested that I had lured him in, giving the whole "not my little boy" routine. My family was nearly bankrupted by the lawyer costs, but I was cleared in the end. I guess that's why I was single so long and used my feminine wiles to get the job done for the CIA. I was angry at men in general, and saw my allure as an instrument of their destruction."

"That's-"

"Horrible, yes, I know. But it takes all types in this business. I'm just glad that Michael turned me around. I've missed out on so much of life because I was angry, but I've been really living ever since." She poured herself another cup of coffee and drank it black, enjoying the strong liquid as it gave her strength. Her eyes came to rest on the gold chain around Jamie's neck, barely visible between the fold of the robe. She reached out and gently touched it, startling Jamie with the boldness of the gesture, feeling her personal space being invaded.

"What are you doing?"

"That necklace... It's beautiful. Did Michael buy it for you?"

Jamie freed Tanya's hand from it and held it close to her heart, turning away and protecting it. "No. Well, sort of. He found it in a shop where the men who took it from me pawned it. I suppose you could say he recovered it for me. He said it was taken from me when I was assaulted and nearly killed, and that it was from my father."

"That's a special necklace then."

"Yes."

There was silence after that, with Jamie watching the woman across from her with wary eyes. Tanya was an overwhelming person; incredibly strong willed, used to being in command and getting her way, and it was easy to lose sight of those qualities because of her glow, her aura that she presented. She was a dominant personality and Jamie found it distracting.

"There's something I want to ask you." Tanya's words snapped Jamie back from her thoughts.

"What's that?"

"What exactly has the Social Welfare Agency done to you?"

"What do you mean?" Jamie realized that she had to stall for time until Michael could exit the bathroom. The question was one she was under strict orders not to answer in any way to an outsider, and as much as Michael trusted her, Tanya was an outsider.

"You are young, too young to be a person experienced enough to be useful. You have incredible strength, as indicated by the way you handled those guys last night, and you have every sign of being brainwashed to follow Michael's orders."

"It's my job to do what he tells me. Are you really any different with the CIA? The other things I can't comment on."

"That's a pass on the question."

"The question is not going to receive an answer, at least not from me. Why don't you ask Michael if you're so interested?"

"Interested in what?" Michael had exited the bathroom and stepped into the conversation, the tone of Jamie's voice telling him that she was getting flustered with whatever it was being discussed.

"Nothing." Tanya went back to the couch and settled into it.

"She was asking about the Agency and myself. I didn't answer anything."

"Good job. Now go get your shower and get ready for work. I'll have a few words with her about it." When she had left, he joined Tanya on the couch with his own coffee, determined to dissuade her from future questions. "Tanya?"

"Hm?"

"Please don't ask any more questions about the Agency, especially to her. The SWA is a secretive organization and those who find out who aren't supposed to are punished, and I don't mean thirty years in federal penitentiary like in the states. They have enemies in a lot of places and they cannot afford for anyone to hurt them."

"Is what they do so grotesque that they have to use such force?"

"It is... unconventional, I can say that.

"Michael," Tanya sighed, "this has _that_ feeling in it. That feeling that you have gotten yourself into something you probably wish you had not. Am I right?"

"No. While I'll admit that it wasn't anything I could have expected in the start, I'm doing things that I'm good at, and I have a roof over my head and food in my mouth, two things I didn't have in Paris." He could see the doubt in her eyes and he smiled at her, silently laughing at the ridiculousness of his own situation. She did not seem to grasp the entirety of the situation he was in, so he decided to spell it out for her, his face becoming intensely serious now. "Tanya, you really cannot ask any more questions about the Agency. I can't stress enough how serious my involvement with someone of your own professional status is being taken by them."

His voice warned of things even he could not protect her from, and to go the step further, he added a hand-sign they had used in the field that indicated they were being listened to. Her eyes went wide as soon as she remembered the meaning and they darted to the likely places that could conceal the microphones. Michael pointed to the drawstring on the window blinds and she understood, wincing at the realization that their lovemaking had probably been monitored in full.

"Secrecy and all that, I know. I've taken such vows myself. I am not on the clock for the CIA right now, though, so stop treating me like I'm some kind of spy." Even if the consideration on his or the agency's part was justified, the insinuation that she would discuss all of her dealings with Langley, even the very personal ones, was irritating. "I'm just curious about you, Michael. You're doing secret things and you can't talk about it to me, so I have to wonder. Even more so about Jamie, who as near as I can tell, is not the typical entry-level spook wannabe."

"She's had very special training and instruction. I've been teaching her what I know, and she is picking it up quickly, even if she is a bit clumsy at times."

"And you're happy?"

"Being a teacher, yes. It's something I never really thought about before, but it's starting to grow on me some."

Tanya turned away in thought and Michael let her take her time, knowing that she would have to come to terms with his having to keep secrets from her if they were to make a renewed attempt at their relationship. When she turned to face him again, she was smiling softly; the Tanya he had always loved was unmasked from behind the professional side she had been putting forth.

"Okay. If you want to be a teacher, then that is something I can live with. I can even live with you doing things you can't tell me about. It's odd since we used to share everything, but it's something I can understand. I would like you to promise me something, though."

"The world if it pleases you."

"Not the world, Michael." She hesitated slightly at first but pushed on, "I'd like you to stay faithful to me this time, and I'll do the same. Before was so... It was like we didn't belong to each other because of the work, and I think that is part of why we felt so able to let go. I can't let go of you again, and I need you..." Her hand went to his face and gently caressed the clean-cut curve, her eyes finding his.

He did not hesitate in his answer, kissing her passionately in a promise between them. A soft breath blowing in his ear made Michael jerk, banging his head against Tanya's and breaking the mood in its entirety. He rubbed his forehead and spun to find Jamie there and smiling at them wickedly.

"Jamie."

"I thought I would need to break things up to help you avoid being late. Again." She stepped to the door and picked up her bags. Whatever happened today, she was definitely staying in the dorms tonight. Seeing the two together was difficult enough for her, but she did not think she could handle another sleepless night.

"Okay, Jamie." He turned and kissed Tanya quickly, squeezing her hand lovingly. "I'll be back this evening. There's a key to the door on the counter. Try not to get into trouble today, at least not without me."

"I won't. I love you." She reluctantly let his hand slip from hers as he pulled away.

"I love you too."

Jamie was already in the car when he got there and he caught the look on her face as he climbed in. He chose to remain silent until they were well on their way out of the city, finally opening up as the car settled into its cruise control.

"You don't like her."

"Should I?"

"I thought you two would get along well enough."

"She loves you." Her eyes stared out at the scenery, refusing to look at him.

"Yes."

"And how could you expect me to accept that?"

"You want me to be happy, don't you?" He could feel her withheld anger at the situation. She could not be angry with him, so she was hating the situation.

"You were happy enough with me. I figured that was enough for a fratello."

"I can't love you like I love her, Jamie. We've been over that. I'm a man, and I have emotional and physiological needs that simply can't be met by-" His voice had risen as his frustration with her built, but he caught himself just after he had said too much.

"By what? A girl? A machine?" Maybe it was Michael's own frustration fueling her anger, but she could not contain it any longer. "Damn it, Michael! You made me like this! You made me this... this thing!"

Tears were in her eyes even as she said it, the reality hitting home as she finally voiced what she had known, but had refused to accept since it had come to her that night she collapsed.

She balled her fist and punched the dashboard with a quick jab. Her hand went through the material and the airbag exploded around it, bathing them both in the non-stick powder and filling the cabin with a blinding-white cloud that burned the eyes.

Michael had caught a glimpse of the road ahead just as the cabin filled and he braked hard, swerving to the shoulder blindly, praying that it was where he remembered it. The car lurched to a stop at the edge of a ditch and they both jumped out.

Jamie fell down the embankment into the ditch and her hands found water, which she immediately used to clear her vision. She looked up at the road and at Michael who was rubbing both of his eyes furiously, trying to clear them enough to see. He could feel the car beside him, but he took a step towards the back-end and lost it, stepping into the road. She realized his danger and lunged up the bank, reaching him and yanking him back behind the car just as a semi-tractor-trailer roared up on them, flashing by only inches from where Michael had just been, the wind roaring past them deafeningly and the driver never bothering to slow down or stop.

Jamie had her arms around Michael from behind and even though he was focusing on trying to clear his vision, she squeezed him tightly and buried her head in his back, the close-call bringing back the emotional onslaught that had been side-tracked by the programmed desire to protect. She found her strength after a moment and pulled away, redoubling her efforts to help him.

"Sit down, Michael." She helped him down on the edge of the road and then dug into the back seat of the car, coming back with a bottle of water that she used to bathe his eyes. He was finally able to blink the last of the dust free and used some of the water to rinse the taste of it from his mouth, eyeing Jamie as she sat on her heels with an angry look.

The change from being upset to protecting him had cooled some of her hot temper, but he could read the pain within her. She wanted him to love her more than anything else and their previous talk had helped her understand her place, but she was still prone to jealousy because of her youth.

"What you said...about my making you what you are-"

"I was out of line."

"No, you're right. I made you. I saved your life and allowed them to turn you into a machine whose purpose is to do what they want. I took away your free-will, your right to do what you want with your life. My short-sightedness has made us both slaves to them, but has taken from you the most precious things that anyone could have."

Jamie looked away. "As you said, you saved my life. I'd be just another statistic if it weren't for you, and I'm grateful for that chance at life you gave me."

When she turned back to face him, he could see the change in her eyes. It was not the eyes she had when focused, nor the soft ones he liked, but a completely different look in them. He did not know this person in front of him, at least not like he thought.

"But I can't deny myself any longer. I am being forced to do things that I never would have done before. To feel things that I was never prepared for and some things that no one should ever have to feel. I kill people without remorse, something I can't help but feel is entirely wrong. All of this... All of this I endure because of you."

Her eyes were streaming tears again but she was actually smiling a little as she wiped them away. Michael was stunned by the eeriness of the scene, unable to say anything for fear of triggering what seemed to him to be the onset of total madness.

"And that's why I hate you. I love you and I hate you. Don't you see?" She crawled over to him and leaned close to his face, the tip of her nose touching his. "Every part of my being screams out that I can't take any more of this, but those same parts tell me I must love you to survive, to be one with you in a way that I can't be with anyone else. My body and mind belong to you, you self-righteous bastard, and all you do is push me away."

"That's not true." Fear had crept into his voice as the eyes on him turned cold and hard, Bianchi's warnings of unstable cyborgs and their limitless power flashing through his mind.

Jamie grabbed his head and pulled him to her, forcing her lips on his in a desperate search for the feeling of love she thought was there. He tried to stay calm long enough for her to release him, but it became clear that something was terribly wrong when he tried to pull back for air and could not. His nasal passage was constricted and clogged from the airbag dust and his heart was pounding with fear, burning his oxygen faster than he could pull it in.

Her hand only pulled him tighter to her as he fought and he began to see stars as he started starving for air, panic setting in as he tried to push her away unsuccessfully. He kicked his legs in a desperate attempt to shift her leverage over him, his pulse pounding in his ears as his vision began to cloud with darkness.

His hand went to his Smith & Wesson, clearing it from the holster and jabbing it into her chest with the last of his strength. He knew it would not be enough to stop her, probably not even critically wound her, but it might break her from her trance and give him a moment to breathe. His finger slid into the trigger-guard just as the darkness covered his eyes and he felt the trigger touch it's take-up detent, the moment when the striker-safety began to be pressed down and the sear to trip the striker free. It amazed him how such detail was noticeable when your life is in danger. All that was left was to finish the motion and he wondered if he would be able to hear the shot.

The pressure eased and Jamie's body sagged onto his, her head landing on his chest as the rest of her went limp, falling on his gun hand. The air was cool and clean as he gasped for it, the fog fading from his head almost instantly, but his muscles were slow to respond as he struggled to pull his gun free from between their bodies. Her eyes were wide open but there was no consciousness behind them, looking eerily like the many corpses he had seen lately. The lifeless nature of the cyborg parts of her body was hidden by the life and spirit inside it.

Michael's strength returned finally and he rolled Jamie off of him and onto her back, checking her for a bullet wound and finding none, quickly confirmed by a glance at his gun, the maximum number of sixteen cartridges still in it. Something had happened in her mind that had allowed the conditioning to take back control and stop her.

This wasn't just a matter of speaking her mind anymore. She had just tried to kill him.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Chapter 21

"What happened to her?"

Dr. Bianchi happened to be standing at the front door of the med-center when Michael pulled up in his Jaguar and climbed out in a cloud of dust. He immediately came around to the passenger side and dragged the unconscious Jamie from the seat, managing to pick her up by holding her arms over his shoulders and hoisting her on his back.

"A very, very serious malfunction. And if you tell Jean about it, I'll personally beat the hell out of you." There was real anger in his voice and the threat certainly seemed real.

"What kind of malfunction?" Bianchi grabbed a wheelchair from inside the door and held it as Michael gently eased Jamie into it, propping her up as best he could before starting to wheel her inside.

"I'll tell you as soon as we get her situated and stable. I'd recommend some sturdy straps."

"She attacked you?"

"Something like that. She's been out for about twenty minutes now, so she's probably going to wake up in a very bad mood."

Bianchi could not say that he was entirely surprised that she had lashed out, given her history, but the fact that she had attacked a handler, more specifically her own handler, was still something of a shock. He waved over a few members of his team as they entered the treatment ward and let them take her in.

"What happened?"

"I've become involved with an old girlfriend again and she seemed to be accepting it just fine until this morning. I'll save the details, but my friend and I, err... entertained one another, and I guess the noise kept Jamie up all night. She seemed to be in a bad mood this morning, but it really hit home in the car. She punched the dash of my car and set off the airbag, hence the dust we're covered in, and we nearly crashed. She saved me from a truck nearly hitting me, and then she sort of melted down, forcefully kissing me and refusing to let go so that I could breath. I nearly shot her to save myself."

Discussing the events did not make him feel any better and his hands started shaking again, but not nearly as bad as his entire body had ten minutes before, forcing him to pull off of the road for a few minutes to calm down, lest he crash them into something. Bianchi could see Michael toughing it out and pointed him to a chair.

"Okay. Well, we'll get her cleaned up and start looking for things that might have gone wrong. Take a few minutes to rest. After that you should probably get cleaned up and changed. Jean has called a meeting of all of the available handlers at noon."

"That's a bit out of the ordinary."

"It's a serious matter. I'm afraid that I can't discuss it further." He walked off to check on Jamie, leaving Michael to wonder just what was going on with the day.

"Good of you to join us, Christiansen. You're late. Again." Jean glared at him from the front of the briefing room as Michael took up a free spot on the back wall, standing amidst the other second-generation handlers.

"Car trouble, sorry. Next time I'm buying American." A few of the handlers laughed at it, but Jean was even more grim than usual. Jose had a similar look on his own face, and Marco was nowhere to be seen. What was going on?

"Okay, lets get started..." Jean gazed across the faces of those he led and knew that he had their full attention. "Angelica, from the first generation of cyborgs, has died. It happened the day before yesterday."

Michael felt a collected gasp from the group that matched his own. Angelica was the darling of the agency, even more so since she was doing a lot better up until the bombing. Everyone had been silently rallying for her recovery until she had gone down while protecting Marco, but they had heard nothing at all since then.

"The cause was brain-death; in effect she had reached the limit of her mind's ability to continue on. Each fratello should psychologically support his cyborg normally regarding her loss. Those under the influence of the conditioning medication should not feel much in the way of grief, but there are those that are on lower dosages, so you should be prepared for questions."

"Jean?" Alessandro spoke up from his spot against the wall and most of the eyes in the room turned to him. "Can I ask a question?"

For a moment Michael thought that Jean was going to ignore him, such was the pained expression on his face, but he nodded in approval.

"If the usage of an ineffective medication is the cause of the short life-span of the first generation, how many years do the seconds have?"

It was almost as if Jean was dreading his own answer with the way he hesitated. "We cannot give exact numbers as of yet, but we can assume it will be at least five years, and hopefully seven."

The handlers all had the same look of disbelief on their faces, Michael saw. He knew how he felt about it and found it mirrored in their faces as he looked down the line. He knew Sandro's attachment to Petrushka, and Maria's handler, Mario, was as close to her as Michael was with Jamie. The others were just getting attached to their charges but their looks were the same. They would all be looking at the calendar more carefully.

"That's all for today. We're going to be taking on more missions soon, so keep training hard. Dismissed."

Michael was halfway to the courtyard door before Jose caught up with him. "What are you going to do, Michael?"

"Hm? I guess I'm going to take things day by day as best I can. Jamie is special to me and I want her to live her life to the fullest."

They exited the building and looked up at the mid-day sky where Michael found solace in the chilly breeze. His troubles with Jamie were frightening, but he could feel that things would be all right for the most part. This recent problem was going to cost them both a lot of trust, especially between each other.

"It's going to be tough, Jose, but I know we can pull through."

"You've changed since coming here."

"You know, everyone keeps telling me that, but I really can't see it."

"Lets begin." Chief Lorenzo was taking a personal interest in Jamie's attack on Michael. The medical team had no choice but to give him the full amount of data and there really was no other conclusion one could arrive at but that she purposely went against her conditioning somehow and tried to kill him. The implications were staggering, and if they ever got out, the program would certainly be shut down. "Tell me what happened."

Belisario stood and handed everyone at the table a folder with his report, giving Michael an apologetic look as he passed. Ferro, Jean, Bianchi, and a few of Belisario's team were also there, all knowing that this meeting was going to decide the future of the cybernetic program.

"On pages four through nine you'll find comparative charts of Jamie's EEG and MRI scans, progressing from her pre-cyberization scan to the one we made yesterday. I have marked the individual readings as necessary for understanding what parts we are looking at. As you can see, her recent scan is getting progressively closer to her original scan in the memory area of her brain. From this and the other tests, I can say that she probably has half of her original memory back, maybe a bit more.

The real issue is not the long-term memories, but her short-term memory from right before she was brought here. It's clear that she now remembers most of what happened to her that night in Paris, and as it has pieced together, she has begun to react to it."

"Is this why she attacked Christiansen?"

"No. Her interrogation has revealed something that I have suspected, but we have never really discussed it as a possibility before in regards to the memory wipe. It would appear that she is suffering from a form of multiple-personality disorder that is the result of her assault."

"Come again?"

"In some instances of brutal assault, the victim's mind is forced to disassociate from their reality. The horrors being so terrible that the only way to cope and survive is to become someone else entirely. Now, while I don't believe she has assumed a different identity, I do suspect that she developed a different mind-set, a different view of the world and way of dealing with it. When we wiped her memory of the trauma, we wiped the memory of the innocent young woman who was frightened and appalled at what had happened to her friends. This is the Jamie that Michael has come to know through her journals and such, and is the girl you met in Paris."

"And the other?" It did not seem logical to Michael, but things were certainly not going as expected with her, so he was willing to entertain the idea.

"Imagine being someone who has been protected, even sheltered from most of the real evil in the world. Your entire outlook is positive and upbeat, and you live your life expecting that in everyone else. Then you are brought face-to-face with that evil in its purest form, not as a bystander, but as its target. Your friends are brutally slain in front of you and you are next on the menu. How can someone cope with that sudden dichotomy between what they have always known and the furthest extreme from it that is possible? 'This is the real world, girl, welcome to hell'."

"She became vindictive, angry..." Michael was following now and not liking the truth in it. "Her sole realization in her death being that she was wrong and that the world is opposite from what she thought. Her God did not save her from the evil that was hurting her, so she took the matter on herself."

"It seems that way. When we took away the previous personality we replaced it with an extremely overwhelming one, pushing the new Jamie to the back where it has been watching and struggling to get forward again."

"Her eyes..." Michael understood now why she looked the way she did.

"What?"

"Her eyes. When she looked at me on the roadside, her eyes were dark and frightening. It was not the focused look she takes on when on a mission. It was the other her talking to me, telling me that I had to love her. It was the same at my apartment that night that she- when she disrobed and begged me to make love to her."

Lorenzo had listened with interest, but felt the need to get things back on track. "Doctor, what kind of threat does she pose?"

"Serious, possibly catastrophic. That part of her mind is obviously not subject to our conditioning and rules of conduct. When she attacked Michael she was trying to kill him, and I can only speculate as to what stopped her. It might be that the other part of her, the softer side, is fighting for control as well and managed to save Michael just in time."

"Is this something that can be fixed?"

"I'm not sure. Another memory wipe might not have any effect but to set her back some ways. A possible option is the conditioning drug that we have kept at a minimum in the second-generation cyborgs. If we raise the dosage, we might retain control."

"Do you believe the only safe alternative is to destroy this cyborg?"

It was the heartless way that Lorenzo said it that set Michael off, launching him to his feet and slamming his fist onto the table.

"You are not going to kill that girl again! I won't allow it!"

"Sit down, Michael." Ferro tried to pull him back into his chair, working to calm him but knowing he would have none of it.

"You can't do it!"

"Michael, if we do nothing, she is going to kill you, and possibly a lot of other people nearby." Bianchi was about as close a friend as Michael had in the room, so he spoke up to try to calm him.

"We made her this way. I made the decision, but you people made her this. She is trying the best she can and you're talking about killing her for it. Killing a woman for your own political convenience."

Ferro saw the look on Lorenzo's face and started looking for someplace to seek cover. He had listened to Michael's outburst with some allowance for a handler's feeling on the matter, but he had enough of Christiansen's attitude.

"Sit down, Christiansen!" Lorenzo's voice boomed out and stopped everyone in whatever thought they were in, so commanding was his presence. "Sit down or I will have you permanently removed from our agency and your cyborg will die alone in a hospital bed."

Michael slowly sat back down as he considered the threat posed to both himself and Jamie. The last thing he wanted was to leave her alone in that place to die.

"Belisario. You will begin testing the larger dosage of the medicine on Jamie to see whether it will be effective."

"The only real way to test it without knowing the triggers for the behavior is to turn her loose with Michael and monitor her."

"Then we will do that. Michael, you have an assignment in Switzerland next week. You will take Ferro with you. Ferro, if Jamie poses any serious threat to Michael or innocents, you will retire her."

"Yes, sir."

"Michael. You are treading on thin ice with me. I will not tolerate any further outbursts. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." He answered through a scowl, trying to force his anger back down.

"You will leave on Friday as scheduled, and with Jamie if Medical clears her. We have already lost one cyborg; we cannot afford to simply waste them because of a control issue, and we cannot afford the time involved in shuffling assignments. I want your reports before noon on Friday so we can make the final determination on whether to send her out. There's another assignment I want you do take before then, Michael. I'll explain it to you at four in my office. Dismissed."

Michael followed the tech teams out but noticed that Jose and Ferro remained behind with Lorenzo. His instincts told him they were going to discuss his status.

"More and more I question my judgment regarding him. He's the last American that will work here, that much is certain." Jean lit up a cigarette and leaned against the wall, thinking of the frustrations one man had caused him.

"He means well, but I don't think he fits in." Ferro tapped her pen on her notepad nervously. She liked Michael, for the most part, but she had to respect her superiors' opinions on the matter.

"He's a liability. His conscience is the problem. He doesn't have enough invested in the agency to be unquestioningly loyal. Raballo was the same way."

"Jean," Lorenzo looked at him with the stern, determined look he took on when he had just signed off on someone's life. "I will not have this agency uncovered because of something Christiansen does."

"Understood. Ferro?"

"Sir?" She snapped to from her relaxed posture.

"If he fails to follow orders in Switzerland, you are to retire both he and his cyborg."

"I don't see that as likely."

"He will have a choice to make, so you need to be ready. I'm entrusting this to you." Jean had a lot of faith in Ferro and she was professional enough to follow his orders without question.

She looked between the two and realized her own career was now on the line with this. If Michael failed, she would have to kill him.

"I understand. I will follow your orders." With that, her die was cast.

"I would expect no less. You may go now."

"Sir."

Michael's gun came up on the target and he fired off the shot as the sights lined up. The stout recoil of the forty-caliber round snapped the gun up and his thumbs-forward grip brought it back down on-target, firing again. His face was a mask of frustration and anger, both being taken out on the target paper forty feet away as he rapid-fired his Smith until the magazine was empty, locking the slide back.

He glanced at the paper as he picked up another magazine and loaded it in the gun, the hard slam popping the slide loose from the lock and auto-chambering the first round. His shots were all over the place on the paper, the pattern a virtual Rorschach image of his mind's state. At that moment, he probably could not kill anything, but not for lack of trying.

"Rough day..." Hilshire had walked up behind him, picking the stall next to Michael's for his own practice.

"Yeah." Michael fired five rounds quickly, the holes neatly joining the previous ones in the non-lethal areas of the paper. Maybe he was not doing well, but at least he was starting to feel a little better.

"Have you learned anything?"

"About what?"

"About Jamie's attackers?" Hilshire's Sig coughed, the suppressor muting the sound sufficiently well that Michael could still hear him.

"A little. Thanks for the information on Prague, by the way." He focused on his sight alignment and actually managed to place a shot where he wanted it.

"Everyone needs a little help now and then. Like now."

"You want my help? What for?" His tone spoke of his state of mind. He was not sure he was of any help to anyone at that moment."

"Lorenzo has been given the go-ahead for actions against Ricci and Santorini, mainly because of their involvement in the bombing."

"The Camorra heads..."

"Yes. I thought you might be able to help me with the planning. I have to leave for Milan Thursday, but Lorenzo wanted me to come up with the first move against them before I left." Viktor fired the remains of his magazine into his target and cleared the gun, satisfied that it was in working condition and shooting straight. "I would like something with a little style to it, preferably American."

"Why is that?" Michael cleared his own pistol and reloaded it with his defensive ammunition, slipping it into his holster.

"Your findings on Santorini were entirely accurate. He's likes America, even thinking himself one of the old-style Mafia type. He also has a few American girls that he keeps around for pleasure."

"You want to use Jamie to stage something against Ricci and pin it on Santorini?"

"You're pretty quick at times. Yes, that's exactly it."

"I don't know how much help she will be with this latest issue that has cropped up, but I'll certainly give it some thought tonight. Truth is; Lorenzo already set me to working on it earlier. I think I have an idea, but I need to work with Jamie some."

"There is not much time."

"We don't really need much. Focus on your trip and leave this one to me. I'll hose them down myself if I have to." Work was the best medicine after all.

"Thank you. If you need me before then, just call."

"I will."

"You're quiet, Michael..." Tanya snuggled closer to him and kissed his cheek, gently brushing her hand across his bare chest, trying to force a reaction from him. "Talk to me about it?"

"Hm. I can't, really. It's work related."

"I thought you said you enjoy it."

"I do... At times." His arms were starting to go numb with how long he had been laying on the bed with his fingers clasped behind his head. Tanya was resting on his shoulder, the one that had been shot, and her skin was scented with her favorite body-wash, which made Michael feel like he was in the greatest place on earth. If only he were able to get things going tonight... But the problem with Jamie was bothering him.

"It's those other times that are making you like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like...I don't exist?" Her hand stroked the curve of his face and traced his lips, stopping to tap pensively at the chin until he kissed them.

"Believe me, you certainly exist. I'm just worried about Jamie. We have two missions coming up and I don't know if she's ready."

"You lack faith in her skills?"

"I lack faith in my resolve."

They both let that filter through their minds for several minutes as the clock in the hall continued to tick away loudly. Tanya's hand found his and she leaned over to kiss him again, an act of comfort for his sake.

"That's the first time I've ever heard you say that. You've never given up, or even showed weakness for it. What's wrong with you?" Her voice was a whisper but stung his heart as if she had tossed it out in anger.

"I don't know. For a while there, everything seemed like it was falling into place, but now...Now I don't even know if my partner can continue on. She's why I'm doing it in the first place, so if she can't do it alongside me, there's not much point."

"Hm." She let him dwell on that for a moment before she continued with her lesson. "Do you remember that mission in the Ukraine?"

"How could I forget? You were nearly killed by that group of ex-KGB."

"You hated me back then."

"Yeah." It was a tough time, right after he had started out in the field, and Tanya had been coming down on him like a pile driver from day one. They had a rush job laid on by the station chief in Sevastopol, and with their team scattered around the Czech Republic at that time, it had been the two of them against the world.

Things had gone down quickly and they had the information they required, but Tanya, ever intent on getting more than her share, had gone out alone to do some more digging among the bars frequented by the Russian Navy. It was there that she was spotted by some ex-KGB turned freelance, who were still contracting out a bit for the SVR, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. One had identified Tanya from his time in Prague and they had caught up with her on the docks, but not before she was able to phone in a danger signal to Michael.

"You were supposed to leave town as fast as you could, Michael."

"Yes, I know."

"So why did you stay?" Tanya kissed his shoulder before adjusting her position and resting her head on it.

"Because I couldn't leave you behind."

"You didn't give up on me. Even after you hunted all night you kept on going until you found me."

"You had my plane ticket." It was the first thing he had said after he found her, beaten severely and suffering from the effects of a truth serum. She was close to cracking from her weakened physical state and he killed her interrogators just in time, and then carried her seven blocks in the dead of the night to a local informant's house.

Tanya laughed softly, remembering those two nights in bits and pieces but Michael's entrance being the only thing that really stuck out. "What was it you said to them?"

"I'd rather not repeat it. It bears an unpleasant image that I've regretted ever since."

"C'mon, tell me!" She prodded him in the ribs with her long fingers, making him wince and start to change his mind.

"Okay, okay. I believe it was: 'Don't bother raising your guns. I hate guns. Besides, I'm a bad shot and I'm liable to miss'."

"All the while you were pointing a pair of 1911's at them. Why _did_ you shoot them, anyway?"

"My finger cramped up and lit off the first shot. After that, I figured it was better just to get it over with and make a run for it."

She laughed out-loud this time, whacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. "You're a terrible liar. I know exactly why you shot them." She waited for a response but he held back. "You shot them because you were angry and impulsive."

"That's not it." He was back to being quiet and thoughtful, a sure sign his emotions were being evaluated.

"Then what?" She rolled over and leaned up, watching his face when he spoke.

"I was...upset... about what they did to you."

Her eyes sparkled as she started to read the emotion in the statement. He was falling for her even then and put up with a lot more flak from her for a long time after, all in the hope that things would come together between them.

"You were playing for me all that time?"

"That surprises you?"

"Yes. I thought that I've had a good read on you from the beginning, and now... now you tell me that I had you all wrong back then. It's enough to drive a woman to tears."

Michael laughed softly as she faked being upset. The story brought back the feeling of that night, when his guns were trained on those men... the sight of Tanya slumped in the chair. He had always made her think that he shot them out of anger, covering the truth that he had done it out of love for her. Somewhere in that time he had convinced himself of that as well.

The reflection made him realize that it was the same for Jamie. He was not killing them out of anger, but out of his love for her. She grounded him in reality at a time that he needed her most, and the least he could do in return was love her like family. If that meant the people that hurt her had to die, then that was the cost of love. When that debt was paid in full, everything else, if there was any future after that, was just a bonus.

"Jamie..."

"Do you understand now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand. I won't have any more doubts."

"Good." She kissed him again. "Because our own future together depends on you doing things right. No more self-doubt, okay?"

"Okay."

Michael smiled at a group of the second-gen girls as he passed them in the hallway, getting an enthusiastic wave in return from Maria. They were on their way to breakfast, creating a perfect opportunity to speak with Jamie alone. He found her door and heard her racking the bolt on her rifle inside, just where Petrushka had said she was.

He knocked twice and her muted voice came through the door, lacking the enthusiasm she normally had.

"Come in."

She was there, dressed in her morning workout clothes and gazing at the rifle intently, examining every inch of it for some reason. The smell of chemicals hung in the air and the rags in the table showed that she had just finished cleaning it after her morning practice.

"Good morning. Are you feeling better?" Michael closed the door behind him and locked it before settling into a chair.

"Yes." Her eyes did not leave the rifle and her voice was impersonal, almost as if she were ignoring him. She found a spot on the metal where the oil was not covering as evenly and quickly wiped it with a rag, buffing the oil into the metal to protect it from the elements.

"The doctors released you to work today, and we have a big mission tomorrow night. We're going off-base to train."

"In what?" Her eyes moved to him to look for orders, a trait that had always seemed more noticeable in the first-gen cyborgs than the seconds. It must be the increased conditioning medicine causing it.

"In acting. You have a tough assignment and Tanya is going to show you a few things that will help."

"If that is what you want, I guess that is what I will do." She glanced over the gun again and placed it into the case, packing the cleaned magazines and a box of hand-loaded shells in alongside it. She stood and gave Michael a wary look before pulling off her sweat clothes, wrapping a robe around herself and grabbing a set of clean lingerie along with her towel.

"I have to take a shower. You can stay here if you like, I'll only be a few minutes."

"That's okay, Jamie, I'll wait down in the commissary."

"Do as you like."

She was gone in an instant and Michael felt the despair return from so many months before, a time when Jamie was lacking the soul to be a real girl. He pulled out his phone and hit his speed-dial to Belisario.

"Belisario."

"It's me."

"I told you she was a little different. The hypnotherapy and conditioning were a strain on her, but we managed to isolate what we think are the triggers for her instability and suppress them. You should be safe now, but I told you it had a cost." His voice sounded satanic, even over the tinny-sounding speaker in the phone.

"Jesus, Belisario... She's back to being a mindless robot."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. Her mind is still in there ticking away, but she's less able to express it, at least for now. She will probably be back to normal once she gets some more experience in, minus the obvious problems of course."

"Of course." Michael stared at the guitar in the corner next to her bed, the dark coloring showing signs of gathering dust. "I'll let you know what happens tomorrow night."

He cut off Belisario's parting words and picked up the guitar, his fingers leaving marks where the dust was disturbed. The agency had claimed her again, and this time there was little or nothing he could have done about it. Her previous self was not gone, but it had been pushed back again and would take some time to come back to the front. The cost was her zest for life that she had found again, and fought for so very long.

He refused to put her through the mental wringer again. If she broke through and tried to kill him again, he would not stop her. He would let her have her vengeance, starting with the taking of his life. It might not play out that way, but he would no longer think of her as the agency's pawn, to be used and wiped clean time after time like some damned white-board on legs.

Jamie arrived in the dining hall a half-hour later, her face blank and impassive; an exact match to the latest Gen-Two that was sitting at a table by herself, near the door. Michael took some solace at how she could at least pick her own breakfast out before joining him, as it was her usual mix of foods, a sign that she was, in fact, still in there. He swiped an apple off of her tray, an action that elicited no real response from her, none but the simple acceptance of her handler doing what he wanted to do.

"Jamie?"

"Yes?"

"How are you feeling?"

"You asked me that before and I said I am feeling fine. Is there a reason I should not be?" Her Italian was crisp and clean- lacking any trace of the English accent she tended to let slip in. Even more concerning was the fact that she was speaking Italian rather than English to him. It was a stark sign of just how distant the recent lab-work had made her.

"No."

She nodded and returned to her breakfast, eating quickly while Michael chewed on the apple, watching her every move intently. She finally finished and returned her tray, returning to the table with a pastry wrapped in a piece of baker's paper. This she offered to him, a move that he thought was her attempt to please him.

"Thank you, Jamie. I brought your guitar and case down since we're going to need it. You'll be staying at my place tonight again, so if there is anything else you might need, now is the time."

Her eyes showed a hint of her thoughts as she stared at him, a sign that gave him hope that Belisario was right and that she simply needed a little time to acclimate to the medication before returning to her former self.

"No. I think I have everything I need."

"Okay." Michael led the way and she followed at the factory-programmed distance behind and to his left, hardly a swing to her arms or the guitar case in her hand. The change from her usual self was beginning to depress him, making him long for the bounce in her step and the swing of the guitar case as she moved. The light-footedness was gone again, replaced by that heavy step that the new cyborgs seemed to have as a characteristic. When you removed the soul, the girl was just another machine.

The drive was in total silence with Jamie looking out of the window with less curiosity than indifference, her hair framing the facial features that had just days before been lit with true emotion. It was a change that was not lost on Tanya when they walked in the apartment door, her face changing to a disapproving frown at the lack of aura surrounding the girl.

"Hi, Jamie. I hope you're feeling better today."

"I am." The switch to English was seamless and her mid-western accent was there as well, another sign that at least some parts of her were still there.

"Great!" She tried to help Jamie with her case; a kind gesture aimed at genuine assistance since Jamie had her backpack slung on her back and an additional bag in her other hand. Jamie refused to let go and even pushed her away slightly before looking to Michael for orders on how to handle the situation.

"Go ahead and let her have the case, Jamie."

"Yes, Michael." The reluctance was plain on her face but she did as she was told and gave the case to Tanya, then slung her pack off onto the couch and settled into it with a thump.

"Michael," Tanya dragged him by the arm into the kitchen, dropping her voice to as soft a whisper as she could. "Michael, what is wrong with that girl?"

"I told you not to ask any more questions." He looked over at Jamie who had turned her head to watch them, hearing every word. "Besides she can hear everything we say anyway."

"Fine! What the hell did you do to her?"

"The agency had to do some things to stabilize her emotions, in the interests of my safety."

Tanya could see he was not entirely happy with it and she understood that the previous night was his worrying about exactly this situation. She looked at the girl and saw the blank look in her eyes, the sure sign of drugs or other brainwashing, and felt her own roll in the next two days to be infinitely more difficult.

"You do realize that I promised to help you on the basis that the girl was teachable to begin with. Look at her! She's a fucking robot now... I can't teach _that _to do what you are asking of her."

"She'll be fine, Tanya. I know it will all come back to her quickly."

"Michael..." It was another of those moments when she was compelled to help him in spite of her own feelings of futility, but her love for him had to have boundaries, and his bringing home a girl that was this seriously messed up in the head was nearing as far as she could go. He was involved in something that wasn't just dangerous; it was wicked, maybe even evil, at its core.

"This goes beyond just her, okay? There is something very wrong here and you are hiding it from me."

"Because I have to, Tanya. I wish I could tell you everything and have your wisdom to help me, but I can't, because if I do, they will kill you, me, and the girl." He was pleading with her, clasping her hands tightly in an effort to convey the seriousness of the situation. "The best I can do is to beg you to do what I've asked of you, and to do it in the faith that it is what I need to do things right."

"Michael..." She was frustrated with the secrets between them, especially since they had promised that there would not be any more beyond his work. This was part of his work, she had to admit, but the nature of it was disturbing enough that she could not help but feel it was something that she had to know about. His pleading look won the day, however, and she gave an exasperated sigh, feeling that the situation would really not be helped by further questions. "I'm just worried..."

"It'll be fine, I promise."

"Alright." She looked at Jamie again and caught a not-so emotionless look on her face before the girl turned back to staring at the windows. She had been on edge as she and Michael had argued and was likely gauging the situation for the threat inherent in it. When it had calmed, she had relaxed and felt a moment of relief. "Guess I'll fix some more coffee, since it's a bit early for lunch."

"Thank you."

Tanya had turned to fill the carafe from the jug in the refrigerator when his hands slapped her behind playfully and his arms quickly wrapped around her stomach from behind, his embrace a complete surprise that was irresistible once he kissed her neck. "I love you."

"You told me that this morning. Several times."

"And I never tire of saying it, Tanya."

His kisses continued but the look from Jamie blocked out all arousal she felt from it. The girl was unhappy with the attention being displayed in front of her and was actually fighting to conceal the emotion within herself. She knew then what she needed to know for the next day to work as Michael planned.

"Michael?"

"Yes?"

"I need to make coffee for you to take with you."

His lips were still on her neck but she felt him deflate at the change in her mood. "Where am I going?"

"Shopping. You have her measurements I believe."

"Yes. I keep them written down because I refuse to accept the metric system."

"I'll give you a list of things I need, then I want you to go out and not come back until nine this evening. She'll be ready by then."

She turned to find the "Are you sure" look in his eyes as she had expected.

"Trust me, Michael. It'll be fine. Go change clothes or whatever, and I'll have your coffee ready in a few minutes."

"Okay... I guess I have no choice." He gave Tanya a quick kiss and went to the bedroom to change, returning a few minutes later in less business-like attire and accepting the travel mug of coffee from the blonde.

"Jamie."

"Yes, Michael?" She took to her feet and stood in a rigid fashion to await commands.

"Tanya is going to teach you what you need to know for tomorrow's operation. She is to be regarded and listened to as you would any agency person. You are not to harm her, no matter what happens. It'll be rough training for you, but I know you can do it. She has a lot of experience that you need, so I'm entrusting you to be the best student you can be."

"Y-yes sir." She seemed to be appreciative of the fact that she had orders, but Michael could see a bit of hesitation, he could only assume from the fact that it was Tanya that she would have to listen to.

"Okay," he took the list that Tanya handed him and glanced it over quickly. "This is going to take me a while. I'll be back tonight, and if anyone from the agency calls or stops by, try to bullshit them as best you can."

"Bye, Michael." Tanya pushed him out the door so she could get started, her enthusiasm for the task kicking in again.

Jamie watched Michael's rental car pull away from the curb and Tanya watched her from the couch, sipping her coffee and waiting for the right moment to start the lesson. The girl finally let the curtains fall back into place and turned to look at her, the sign she was waiting for.

"Come over here and sit down, Jamie." Jamie nodded and slowly walked to the couch, sitting down cautiously on the spot that Tanya has patted, right next to her. The girl was stiff and uncomfortable, unsure as to what she should be expecting from the woman beside her.

"Now, when it comes to being an effective operative, you have to be skilled in a lot of things. Why don't you tell me what you consider your greatest assets?"

"I don't understand. I am effective at a lot of things, and I guess you can consider them to be skills."

"Like what?"

"I- I am trained as a sniper primarily, but I am also good with a pistol and at hand-to-hand fighting. I speak three languages fluently, am trained in assaults, and have experience in infiltration."

"Hm." Tanya smiled and set her coffee down on the end table out of the way. "No doubt you've learned it well, coming from Michael. He's one of the best. But I think you are missing a few things that are more valuable.

"What would that be?"

"Well, your looks for one thing..." Tanya's hand slipped across the back of the couch and onto Jamie's shoulder, nearly making her jump out of her skin at the contact. Jamie started to lean away but the hand slowly made it's way across her neck with the gentlest of contact and the fingers teased her longer hair. Her breathing grew more rapid and shallow as the she tried to figure out what was happening.

"Jamie... You have both youth and beauty on your side. You can wear anything you want, anything that Michael will buy for you, and yet you choose the tomboy look to hide your beauty where others can't see it. Why is that?"

"I-I'm just more comfortable in these clothes."

"Mmm..." Tanya's other hand landed on Jamie's arm and made it's way up it, but Jamie did not dare take her eyes away from Tanya's as she tried to discern her intentions from the confident look on her face. "I think it's a waste of a perfectly good body. Sure, I like that look too, but I also know how to dress up and be every bit of the woman I am."

"Please-" Jamie was caught, held entirely immobile by Tanya's gaze and actions, the alarms in her head becoming a garbled mess with her own confusion.

"I need to know something Jamie." The hand traced the lines of her face, slowly caressing her lips, which parted involuntarily to help her breathe with the jump in her heart rate. "I need to know why you've been acting so emotionless with Michael today."

She was in no condition to deal with the surprise she felt as Tanya called her out, her body beginning to tremble as the hands continued to tease her senses.

"I..."

"Don't lie to me." Tanya leaned close to her, their bodies touching, their faces only inches apart. "I'm not angry. I'm actually impressed with the fact that he didn't notice, which means that you are a pretty good actress. But you're not good enough to fool me. I saw the look you fired off as he touched me. You were jealous then, and wondered what it was that attracted him to me."

The hand caressed Jamie's breast and she stared to tremble in earnest. She was powerless before the older woman and it was sinking in that she had to do something to resist. The voice in her mind that was always there before was now absent, and the loneliness confused her even more by creating a longing for any kind of instruction as to what to do.

"Please stop..." Her voice was weak and unsure.

"No. You wanted to know what attracts him to me, am I right?"

Tanya's lips brushed Jamie's cheek as she whispered and her hand caressed the back of her neck, the sensations pushing the girl further towards losing her mind. She no longer could focus on anything with her mind so overcome by the assault on her senses.

"Please?"

The lips touched hers and she felt tears start to stream from her eyes. She was overwhelmed entirely, the familiar feeling the cause of the tears, tears the same as those she shed that night so long ago when the world changed for her. The hand on her chest moved away and created an opening to escape, but the feeling of weakness prevented her from doing anything but accepting the situation.

The hand returned and there was something cold and sharp against her neck. The feeling was familiar enough to break the submission with a dose of genuine fear, the same fear from before.

"Jamie... If I had been intending you harm, you would now be dead." The aural force that Tanya had used to overpower her was gone instantly as she backed away, replaced by the matter-of-fact tone of a teacher. "Look down."

Jamie blinked her eyes clear and glanced down at the knife Tanya had put against her neck as part of her "lesson". The fear was gone but the confusion was still there as she failed to connect the dots.

"The power that I have over Michael is the same as I used to get inside your head to overwhelm it. In Michael's case, it is my genuine feelings of love that I add to my allure. In the case of an enemy, I use everything at my disposal to break down their defenses so that I can strike. Men and women alike can be overwhelmed by the power of a beautiful, assertive, dominant woman. Sexuality is not just an emotion or visible state of being: It's an incredibly effective weapon for getting past people's defenses."

The girl still trembled but was breathing carefully to get control of her self again. Her eyes were still locked on Tanya, waiting for the next action, one she was determined to act on.

"Do you understand what just happened? Do you understand how I was able to weaken you to get past your defenses?" The girl only nodded as it became clear that she had been using all but the most powerful weapon at her disposal: that of forced surprise. "Do you want this power for yourself?"

"Yes."

The response was a whisper of awe and Tanya knew that she had her.


	10. Chapter 22 to 23

Chapter 22: A taste of Old Chicago.

It was snowing again, Jamie saw in the light of the streetlamps. It was a light, almost invisible snow... the kind that lightly dusts the hair. It would be cold for her, but she shoved it out of her mind as she slipped into her heels and made sure they would not slip off.

"You have everything you need?" Tanya turned around in the driver's seat of Michael's loaner car and glanced over Jamie, finally nodding her approval.

"Yes. I'm worried about Michael. He should be here sending me off."

"He said his part is just as important as yours. He's going to meet up with us at the hotel, so just focus on the moment here and remember what I taught you."

"I'm scared."

"You'll be fine. I believe in you." She flashed a warm smile and Jamie leaned forward in the backseat to wrap her arms around the woman, giving her a friendly hug.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me." Tanya's cell-phone rang once with Michael's call-tone and went silent again.

"It's time."

"Wish me luck."

The door of the small Italian restaurant/club opened and everyone looked up at the late-evening stranger as she closed the door behind her. She made her way to the small bar, her heels clicking on the tile floor, the guitar case in her hand swinging gently with each graceful step she took. The woman looked around casually at the patrons, smiling softly at a pair of families with children on her right and a group of larger men in suits that were seated in a pair of booths to her left.

The bartender returned her smile as she settled the case on a stool beside her and pulled off her overcoat. A whistle went up from one of the booths as the material revealed luscious skin on a body to die for, all wrapped in a white cocktail dress whose length showed as much leg as any on the Vegas strip. The owner of the body settled onto the stool and tossed her blonde hair off of her shoulder.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"I'll have a soda-pop, please."

The question had been in Italian, but the response was given in the plainest mid-western America English that anyone there had heard.

"Certainly." He was happy to show off his own mastery of the English language and chatted her up as he poured her a Coca-Cola on the rocks. "Just come from a wedding?"

"Wedding?" She gave a confused look as her seductive lips sipped the drink and wrapped around a chunk of ice.

"The white dress."

"Oh, no." She laughed and smiled at him again. "My boss sent me here on business."

"Your boss?" The bartender wiped at a glass and laughed at the ridiculous nature of the answer.

"Yes. You might have heard of him: Antonio Santorini."

The bartender went pale and the woman caught movement in the corner of the room where the suits were.

"And what business do you have here?" His tone was cautious, unsure as to what was happening, but fairly certain he was not going to like it.

"There was a misunderstanding a few weeks back and my employer feels terrible about it. I was told I could find Ricci's men here and to 'entertain them' as a gesture of faith that we can sort the misunderstanding out." She spoke loud enough to be heard in the corner, though not every word. She turned and smiled at the men in the corner who had their full attention focused on her. "Is that them over there?"

"Er...yes."

"Mmmm... I can see it's going to be a long night." She giggled seductively and slipped off of the stool, the long legs carrying her with a grace that angels could envy. She was tall, and the heels made her presence impossible to miss, her eyes glancing over the men in the two booths as her lips caressed the rim of the glass she held.

"Evening, boys. Don Santorini sent me over as a gift of good faith. I trust you'll see that the thoughtfulness is not lost on you."

"Damn."

The men could not help but stare at the virtual goddess before them.

"He sent you to entertain us?"

"That's right."

"And, uh, what kind of entertainment are you good at?" This one needed to wipe the drool from his face.

"Oh! I sing, I dance. I'm especially good with my hands." She draped an arm over the guy who seemed like he was the boss of the others and her other hand used a napkin to wipe some pasta sauce from the corner of his mouth. His free hand slipped around her and traced the curve of her body.

"Is that all?"

"Hmm... Well, we can see where things go from there, I guess. My opening act is fairly family friendly, but I'm afraid the later bits can be a bit too vivid for younger audiences. I guess you'll have to sit this one out, junior." She waved a finger at the youngest of the group, a man who looked to be only twenty, making the others erupt in laughter at his embarrassment.

"You're all-right, Miss." The boss sat her down on his leg and stroked her thigh as the conversation continued on in more excited tones among the men. Another round of drinks was ordered and the girl sipped her coke as she observed the others in the group, getting a read of the capabilities of them, realizing that there was really no reason not to continue.

The fat man laughed and his greasy hands roamed around her body excitedly. It was all she could do to keep smiling and laughing at the jokes being told among the group, the level of relaxation increasing as time went by.

"What's your name, Miss?"

"Anna. I'm from Chicago."

"Really? Tony loves his American girls, huh?"

She laughed. "Yeah, well, you seem to be enjoying yourself now, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Good. Tonight is a night that we're all going to get something out of, I just know it." She could see his mind was already on pleasure and figured it was time to move on to the next phase. She leaned over and kissed him, the taste of cigarettes, whiskey, and pasta, overwhelmed by the garlic was a revolting combination. "Before things get to be too busy, I have a clause in my contract that says I get to sing a song for you guys."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..." She flashed the disarming smile again and slipped off of his lap. "I'm really good, I think you'll like it."

She quickly retrieved her case from the bar and set it down on the floor near the booths, popping the latches and opening it up.

"What song are you going to sing?"

"It's one from Chicago, my hometown." Her hands dove into the case out of the sight of the men, her body shielding the case from view from behind. The hands moved fast to keep from spoiling the surprise.

Her voice changed to one that was almost robotic, the brilliant-blue eyes changing to cold-hard slits. Only one of the men noticed the change on her face, but he was against the wall in the booth, unable to move fast enough to do anything about it. She had them.

"It's called 'Type-writer'."

There was a loud click and the unmistakable sound of an action being racked, freezing the men in their places with the same thought of feeling like idiots. 'Anna' stood and leveled a full-length Thompson sub-machinegun with a drum magazine at them, pausing only long enough to smile wickedly. "Here we go."

The sound was deafening in the small restaurant, drowning out the sounds of the other patrons screaming as they sought cover under their tables, but she hardly heard through her target fixation, watching as the bullets leapt from the barrel and into the men at the tables. Her senses were so keyed up that she could virtually count the hot, empty casings as they were ejected in a hailstorm to her right, spreading out and rolling everywhere on the floor.

The muzzle swept across the men and they jerked with every bullet that ripped through them, their faces masks of surprise and pain and the ones that missed tore gaping holes in the wall and upholstery, spraying fragments of wood and brick everywhere. Glasses and bottles on the table shattered and added to the mess, the red wine darker than the blood that was suddenly spilling out onto the tablecloth. The men slumped into the seats or onto the floor, their bodies riddled with holes but her orders were to use the whole magazine, and so she continued well after the life had left the bodies, the smile never leaving her face.

Finally the action locked open on the empty magazine, the sudden silence even more overwhelming than the noise had been. A thick, evil haze had formed from the gun's firing, the scent of death hanging in the air. A child's crying shattered the silence and it was quickly muffled by a frightened parent looking to avoid drawing attention, but the sound pulled 'Anna' from her fixation on the carnage she had just unleashed.

The gun fell from her hands into the guitar case and she bent over, pulling a Kimber 1911 pistol from it, and straightened back up, gently tugging the dress back down from where it had ridden up. The legs carried the incarnation of Death over to the booths and the light fell on her face again, one that was devoid of any emotion at all. The hammer of the pistol was thumbed back and the arm stretched out, taking aim at the skull of the twenty year old that had not stopped breathing yet. His eyes blinked and focused on his killer in a desperate search for understanding, of where it had gone wrong. The blank look on her face explained nothing and he could only feel anger at how he had been taken down so young.

"Bit-" His coughed last word was silenced by the forty-five caliber round piercing his skull. She went to each one and fired a single round into their heads to make sure they were finished, the ruthless measure of efficiency and total lack of emotion seared into the minds of those who would survive to tell the tale. The adults cowering under the tables with their children would watch the angel of death slowly release the locked-open slide of the pistol and gently place it into the guitar case alongside the Thompson, lock the case closed, and slowly stand.

The heels clicked like gunshots as she approached the bar again, pulled on her overcoat, and glared at the cowering barkeep, who had been either too stupid or too scared to do anything but stand there and wet his pants as the events had unfolded. The woman's hand went into a pocket of her coat and the barkeep flinched, fearing that she was going to pull out another gun with which she would finish him off.

The hand came out and dropped a hundred-Euro note on the bar, which she weighted down with a glass. When she spoke, it was the emotionless voice that had suddenly appeared before brutally slaying eight men.

"You tell Christobal Ricci that Antonio Santorini will be seeing him soon." She spun and walked to the door, all eyes on her again but certainly in a different light than when she had walked in. She paused at the door after she had opened it, the cold winter air spilling into the room and adding to the chill that was already there. "Oh, and keep the change."

The door closed behind her but no one dared take a breath of relief.

The snow felt good on her face and she paused a moment to relish it, not caring about the sirens in the distance that screamed out for her as they came closer. A few bystanders glanced her way but none of them were close enough to see her face in the darkness. She went to the car and climbed into the back, tossing the blonde hair from her shoulder again.

"Everything okay?"

"Mission accomplished."

"Good." Tanya pulled away and quickly drove into some back streets, making several turns to shake any possible pursuit.

"Any word from Michael?

"Not yet. He's running late, as usual. He'll be fine." Tanya could see the worry on Jamie's face as the lights of the streetlamps flashed across it. "How did it feel?"

"It felt good. They had no idea until it was too late."

"Were you comfortable?"

"Yes. Except the dress kept riding up."

"Short ones are like that, but a little peek of pink only serves your cause, not theirs. It's best to simply push your self-conscience aside and focus on how they perceive you." She made another turn and got onto the highway leading out of Milan.

"I see..." Jamie fell silent as the drive continued on, her eyes occasionally catching Tanya's in the mirror.

"You're incredible, Jamie. Never forget the power that you can have over others: sometimes it's the only thing between life and death. As long as you have surprise, initiative, and foresight on your side, you will rarely lose." Teaching her had been a worthwhile experience to Tanya and she could see how Michael could actually enjoy what he was doing, in spite of the bad moments.

"Michael said that I have to get inside their decision making process."

"That's absolutely true."

"I can feel certain that Ricci will attack Santorini, but I can't really read beyond that. I'm not sure what is going to happen." Jamie watched the dark scenery streak past against the slightly less-dark sky, focusing on the results of tonight.

"It will take weeks for them to settle this down, and by that time, there won't be many of them left. Camorra is as good as tied up for a month." She took an off-ramp and headed towards Saronno, the rendezvous point for the evening being a hotel/spa that Michael had picked out as being nicely inconspicuous.

The staff hardly looked at the pair of debutantes as they checked in and were shown to their room, and Tanya wasted no time slipping into a robe to hit the sauna in. Jamie had pulled off her coat and stared at herself in the mirror, wondering just how she had looked to those men as she was gunning them down. There was a spot of blood on the dress, hardly noticeable at all, but it made her shudder with the sudden chill that went through her.

"What's the matter?"

"I-It's nothing. There's a spot of blood on my dress, probably from when I fired the Kimber into the last guy. I was a little close." She put it aside and turned in the mirror, trying to get an understanding of how heart stopping her body was for others. "Do you think Michael would like me to wear something like this more often?"

"I doubt it. He's just not that kind of guy. Even if it were me, he would probably wish we covered up a bit more. He's always conscious of drawing too much attention. Now hurry up and change so we can hit the spa before he gets here." She tossed a robe at Jamie and sat down on the bed to wait, knowing that Michael was going to be fairly late coming back. He was going to work a lot harder than they had.

Chapter 23: The Other Side

"Thanks for helping me home, Michael. I don't understand how I could have gotten this drunk off of just a few shots."

"It's okay, I know how it is. It's easy to lose a tolerance for the good stuff." Michael supported the blonde as she weakly stumbled up the stairs to her apartment, too drunk, and unknowingly drugged, to understand exactly how dangerous this stranger to was to her.

"I'm just glad I met a real man instead of some pervert." She had a New England accent that was barely noticeable until she had tossed a few drinks, but it was now out in full force, slurred more by the drugs than the booze. "It's hard to find an honest American in Europe anymore. We've got to stick together." She stopped on a landing long enough to get her bearings, then pointed to a hallway on the next one. "There... Down there."

"Okay. Just a little further then." He almost carried her the rest of the way to her door and let her fumble with her keys to get the locks open. The apartment was the only one on the hall that was rented out, making his job so much easier, if not less distasteful, and he had already planned his escape should the need arise.

"Here you go... Just sit down on the couch while I get you some water."

"Thanks." He rested her gently into the couch and watched as she blinked several times to try to clear her vision. The drugs he had slipped her were wicked in their effects and it was only a matter of time before they really kicked in, giving the young woman one of the wildest rides of her life.

He stepped into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, glancing around as he waited patiently, observing everything in the room. He would search every inch of the place for info he could use, then make sure it all looked as if it had never been disturbed.

"MICHAEL!" The scream from the living room came as expected and he rushed in for show, knowing exactly what she was going through. The woman was clutching a blanket and pointing into the corner of the room, a corner that was devoid of anything. "It's staring at me! Make it stop!"

"There's nothing there. It's just the booze."

"NO! It's going to kill me!"

"There is nothing there!" He grabbed her by the arms and shook her, trying to mix her brain up even more.

"Get me out of here... Please?" She kept staring at the corner and the similarity to the way Jamie cried was not lost on him. He hated this kind of work, but it had to be done.

"You're home. You're safe here."

"NO!" She pulled away and struggled to her feet, trying to stagger her way to the door, the only escape. She was dizzy and wheezing, her movements slow and tired. "Have... to get...out..."

Michael was behind her and spun her around, the evil look on his face making her eyes go wide with terror. She had to be hallucinating alongside the real images, making everything she saw more frightening. He grabbed her wrists and threw her down to the floor, the thump rattling the pictures on the walls.

"What... What are... you doing?"

"I'm sorry, I really am, but you have to die. What I have to do to you before that is something that I simply can't atone for. I know what you do for Santorini, so I know you understand the patience and planning involved in something like this. Image is everything, and I need your boss to see what I want him to see."

"You..."

It only took a single punch to knock her out, for which Michael was thankful. He pulled latex gloves from his pocket and began searching the entire place top to bottom.

She was lighter than he thought she would be, and despite being dead weight in the literal sense, he was able to get her into the trunk of her car and on the way to their destination without any sign of being noticed from bystanders.

It was a dirty, filthy way to earn a living, but this was a war he was starting, and people had to die. It's just the way those things work.

As if providence was guiding his actions that night, the lake he had chosen was just starting to freeze over, a thin film starting to form on the surface from the contact with the cold air. Breaking the film now would not cause any appreciable variance in the thickness that formed, and the car would remain hidden quite well in the icy waters until spring.

A gentle push sent it into the dark waters and he waited while the car filled and sank, not chancing that it might remain afloat to be found.

When he was satisfied that it was done, he found the car he had hidden in the trees and drove away, forcing himself to think of something other than the woman named Anna that he had just killed, and what he had just begun.

It was simple, really. The woman named Anna was one of Santorini's hit men, err, women. She liked to dress trashy, seduce men, and had a chirpy personality. The fact that she was American was what led Michael to choose the fate of those men that Jamie attacked, and what would send Christobal Ricci into a fit of rage. The survivors of the attack would tell of a blonde American in a dress, playing the men until she killed them all in a classic American Mob way. It was Santorini's modus operandi to do things with style.

On the unfortunate side, Anna had to go- in the worst way. Her sudden disappearance on the same night would lend credence to her part in the attack, and lay out a massive amount of confusion inside Santorini's organization as he scrambles to find her and why she did it. After the fire and the wasting of some of his heavies, Ricci would certainly be going after him and fast, as the warning that Jamie left with them would be the most concerning part of all. Santorini was not weak by any means, and his organization was able to crush Ricci's if there were ever an all-out war between them. Ricci's only hope was to hit hard and fast, and before Santorini could shift to a condition to withstand the assault. He was vulnerable, but only until he realized what was going on.

Again, that was where Michael's sins of the evening came in. The time it would take Santorini to figure out that Anna had disappeared after taking out the gang would allow Ricci to move his pieces into play and gather some amount of advantage for himself. It would take him about forty-eight hours to do this, and the only possible counter to the staging of Ricci's forces was for Santorini to go on the offensive before then. His only problem was that he could not make a decision that fast. To the best of the agency's knowledge, he did not have enough informants in Ricci's organization, nor on the street, to tell him what exactly was happening, and that lack of intel would require him time to make up for, time he simply did not have.

The net effect of this action was that Ricci would strike a partially defended target, and the defense would crumble before being reinforced and seriously damaging the attacker in turn. Both sides would take casualties, numbers that they simply could not afford in the face of aggression from the other factions in Camorra.

It was the longest shot of Michael's career. It required everything he had set into motion to go perfectly, and so far it was, but the only real weak link that could turn up before blood was further shed was if Anna's car turned up with her body in it.

To that end, Michael had beaten her to a pulp, among many other things. If someone wants to silence someone, as Michael had, then killing the person was easiest. But if she turned up "just dead", as Michael had reasoned, there would be the thought that someone was playing the two factions for sport. No, she had to be hurt before she was killed, the same as if she had been captured by Ricci's people. If she turned up, Santorini would think Ricci had caught up with her and tore her up before disposing of her.

It really did not matter whether he continued to ask why she initiated the action. If Santorini said he did not order it, Ricci would not believe it. If Ricci said he had not killed Anna, Tony would not believe it.

It was a matter of trust between two enemies, and after two unprovoked attacks, Ricci would have had about as much of the "trust" as he could stand.

"You're one really sick piece of work, Michael." The eyes in the rear-view mirror glared back at him. When had he decided to wage war for the agency on this scale? When had he sunk so low that he could consider other lives as expendable as the Euros in his pocket?

One thing was certain in all of this: Karma was a bitch, he had just kicked the karma dispenser in the balls, and it was going to spit out pain and misery like a busted vending machine. Nothing good was going to come of this.

The silence of the drive made his thoughts churn rapidly, shifting from the work to Jamie. Tanya had told him everything of how Jamie had been acting so cold to him, so robotic. She had been upset at how the agency had tried to rein her in with his acquiescence, and had decided to work within her bounds to display her disapproval. The best she could manage was to act like she had started out, not so much to hinder as to upset him. On hearing this, Michael had felt relief, as there was no way that they could have done as good a job as they wanted to if she was able to deceive him in such a way.

She was still Jamie, the Jamie he cared for, and even the agency could not take her away all that easily. Tanya's training was even more important to that effect, as Jamie had to know how to be a woman as much as a killer, both things that Tanya had excelled at.

The tutor had Jamie wrapped only in a bath towel and draped seductively in a chair to await his arrival. She waited until he had set everything down before striking, laying it on thick in her skilled French, making Michael the most uncomfortable man in history as she wrapped her body around his, gently blowing in his ear. It went on for several minutes and he had begun to wonder just where his Jamie had gone when she put a plastic knife to his throat and declared him dead with a smile.

He was impressed to say the least. Jamie had been a completely different woman, and looked entirely comfortable in the role, exactly what he had asked of Tanya, and it had only taken a day.

It was frightening in many ways. Just how much of the Jamie that he saw on a daily basis was the real thing and how much was an act. Was she really the person he had seen that morning on the roadside, or was she the quiet but determined young woman that he had trained?

The thoughts were in his head until he arrived at the hotel and stopped suddenly several doors from their room, the muted sounds of a guitar barely reaching into the hall through the thick walls and door. It was a quiet song with picked rhythms rather than strummed chords, the progression reflecting the mind of the person behind it.

The keycard beeped in the lock and he stepped inside the room, blinking in the inky darkness and feeling a chill from the eeriness of such music coming from a darkened room.

"Shh..." Tanya's voice whispered into his ear as her hand touched his, pulling him through the blackness to the bed, helping him sit down without falling. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light provided by the windows and he could make out Tanya beside him and Jamie in a chair by the window, her body slowly swaying to the music as it left her fingers for the guitar. The notes were not in any real manner of song, but they were a beautiful collage of her thoughts, a collage that continued until she settled down into a soft rhythm, her voice reaching out from deep within her in a seeming rambling way.

_Upon being touched gently_

_I finally noticed how cold this cheek was_

_Upon awakening in the morning_

_It was like suddenly noticing the sound of birds for the first time._

_I don't know anything yet_

_What the heart is seeking_

_I don't know..._

It took Michael a while to realize that it was a translated song, the music being a form of the original, but the lyrics fit poorly if sung, so she was speaking them as if she was thinking aloud.

_I was looking at nothing but the sky_

_Since sometimes like this_

_I let my thoughts fly up right below those clouds_

_Like living the continuation of a dream_

_I am unreliable, but love me._

_What is the color of tears within the fountain of the heart?_

_What is the color of sorrow?_

_The morning light now wrapped the solitude_

_The moment you opened your eyes and smiled._

_I was looking at nothing but the sky_

_From the window into the distance far away_

_Take me up right below those clouds._

_Both hands overflow with_

_Beautiful emotions,_

_I want to dedicate them to you._

_Gently touch_

_Gently touch on this cheek_

_Gently... Gently..._

Tanya had taken his hand in hers and leaned close in the darkness, her head on his shoulder and her breath blowing softly against his neck. He could feel her tears through his shirt and realized that the lyrics had gotten to her, speaking much of what they had shared with each other. Both had been cold inside, but had woken up to find each other amidst the chaos they lived in, their souls slowly being mended by the love they shared.

"Oh, Michael!" Jamie had relaxed out of her trance to suddenly find him holding Tanya in his arms in the way only lovers could. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I didn't want to disturb you." He gave her a warm smile that she returned, apparently understanding and accepting Tanya's place in his life. "That was beautiful."

"Thank you. I wish I could sing the original lyrics, but my Japanese is not so good. I don't think I could do it justice. Besides, people would not be able to understand it if I did."

"It was perfect the way you did it. Thank you." He felt Tanya shift and looked her in the eyes, the tears leaving tracks on her cheeks, which he wiped away. "I love you."

"I love you."

"Should I leave?" Jamie thumbed at the door with the hand that was not holding her guitar, obviously concerned about being in the way.

"No, Jamie. We're just... Caught up in your song."

"Well, then move over. It's very late and I would like to finally get to sleep." She set the guitar in the corner and climbed into the bed, settling in for the night. Michael turned to Tanya for an explanation as they were supposed to have separate rooms.

"Err... They were booked solid and I could only get the one room, sorry."

"This was supposed to be you and me."

"Well, it's not. So you..." She handed him the pillow from the head of the bed. "You get the floor."

"What?"

"You don't expect one of us ladies to sleep there, do you?" She was playing his chivalrous side, something that she could always depend on being his weak spot.

"Well..."

"Good night, Michael." She slipped under the covers and rolled over, leaving him staring agape at her back, wondering whether this was his karma coming back to haunt him already.

In the end, he really could not kick either of the women in his life onto the floor, so he slipped off of the bed and made himself comfortable as best he could without a blanket. "Good night."

Several minutes passed in shadowy silence, the sounds of their breathing barely audible, but it was shattered when Jamie started giggling to herself, making Michael wonder just what was going on above him. Tanya finally sighed and spoke up:

"Michael... We're just messing with you. Get changed into some pj's and get up here. There's plenty of room for you in the middle."

"In the middle?"

"Stop arguing and get moving."

Michael hurriedly dug his silk lounging pants from his bag and changed as the girls mocked him, both sighing contentedly as soon as he had settled in beside them.

"I am the happiest man alive, I think."

Tanya leaned over and kissed him before curling up beside him again.

"Shut up and sleep."

The morning sun brought with it the enticing scent of perfume and shampoo, the things Michael had come to enjoy waking up to since Tanya had come back into his life. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to get his bearings as his body slowly woke up. Parts of him were not responding and he realized it was his arms. Both of the women had curled up next to him in the night and his arms were wrapped around them, having lost all feeling from the restricted blood flow. He could not move without waking them, though it certainly was not a bad thing to be stuck between them.

"Mmm..." Jamie stirred as Michael flexed his hand beneath her, trying to get the feeling to return to it. She pulled tighter to him and gave a contented sigh, seeming to take on a new level of comfort that she had never had before.

"Ung... What is this thing in my back?" Tanya had rolled over and woken at the feel of the uncomfortable arm beneath her. "Oh..."

"I take it you were happy?"

"Always in your arms. I just wish they weren't so lumpy." She rolled over a bit more to free his arm, and then got comfortable again with her pillow, endeavoring to go back to sleep.

"Hm..."

He turned to watch Jamie as she struggled to wake up, her now-blonde hair falling onto her shoulders where the robe had fallen off, framing her in a curious way in the morning light.

"Good morning, Michael."

"Good morning, Jamie. How did you sleep?"

"Good. I'm hungry." She rolled off of the bed and forced her body to stand, swaying a few times before stumbling towards the bathroom. "Oh, Ferro's coming down the hall so you might want to put some pants on."

"I have pants on."

What she said to his response was lost as the door closed behind her. Tanya sat up and stretched, her nightgown's curves drawing Michael's eyes, a bit of attention that she noticed.

"Forget it, it's too early in the morning." There was a knock at the door that meant that Ferro had arrived. "Besides, the day is starting already."

"I know..."

"I'll get it."

Tanya moved slowly as she struggled to wake up and get to the door, not even bothering to put her robe on over her nightgown before cracking the door a little to look out.

"Yes?"

"I need to speak with Michael."

"You must be Ferro. Michael has told me so much about you. Please, come in. You'll have to excuse us, we just woke up." She waved Ferro to a chair and then sat down on the bed beside Michael, who had decided to be kind to Ferro this time and put a shirt on without her asking.

"Hi. What's up?" Michael rubbed his hand through his hair and decided that he really needed a shower.

"Congratulations. You now have one very serious war within Camorra." She tossed a report on his lap along with the morning paper. "Ricci hit Santorini's smuggling operation at first light this morning. Twelve dead, numerous injured. One of the bodies was Santorini's third in command, so this is certainly going to happen quickly."

"Mission accomplished, I guess."

"We'll see. It has just begun so it could go any direction, but it seems to be sticking to your estimates. Any problems with the operation?"

"No. I doubt I'll be remembered from the club and Jamie's not a problem. She was perfect last night, from what I hear."

Jamie stepped from the bathroom holding a towel to her chest and dug in her bags for a few moments. "Hi, Ferro. I forgot my dye. I'll have to color my hair until this blonde fades."

Michael smiled at her and glanced at the morning paper. "You made the paper, Jamie."

"That's great! I'll read it later."

She ducked back into the bathroom and closed the door, but Ferro seemed disturbed at the girl's demeanor. Michael could read it in her face.

"Different, isn't she?"

"Very. She seems more relaxed."

"Tanya should get all of the credit for that." He took her hand again in his and caught a curious glance from Ferro, as if she were reevaluating him. "She gave Jamie some acting lessons and instructions on how to be confident."

He looked at Tanya to find confusion in her eyes then suddenly realized that everyone had been speaking in Italian, which prevented her from following at all.

"Sorry, Tanya. We were discussing Jamie and how you helped her in her role."

"It's okay. I understand that I really don't have a place in your agency, so it's really not important that I understand everything." She dismissed it as best she could, given that she had just been ignored entirely for several minutes. "Jamie wasn't really a problem, actually, after she stopped acting so indifferent to everything. She's a bright girl, but she just needs focused on a few things at a time to learn them. All I did was show her how to focus past her personal characteristics in order to make assumed ones more vibrant and believable. "

"Well, from the news, I would have to say that she did well. The police and Ricci's men are looking for Anna Grayson, Santorini's hit woman." Ferro stood and stepped to the door, pausing to look back at Tanya and speak in her accented English. "Thank you for your help, Miss Sokolov. Your help in this, and in the information you sent to Michael, has been invaluable to us. I hope the payment in the envelope is sufficient compensation for your efforts. And your silence."

Tanya looked at the thick envelope that had slipped from inside the folded newspaper when it had landed on the bed. From the thickness she had to guess it was a considerable sum in dollars.

"Yes, well, it was largely for Michael's sake, but thank you."

The way Ferro had said the word "silence" tripped a wire in Michael's brain and he watched Ferro's face carefully for any revelation as to what she was thinking, foiled once again by her impassiveness.

"Michael," she spoke in Italian again, "I'll be out in the van. We have to leave as soon as possible to get to the resort. There is a weather front building in that area and the roads might become impassible if we wait."

"Right. I'll get Jamie moving and check out."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Ferro." Tanya smiled warmly, making Ferro pause as she started to step through the door.

"And you."

Michael stared after her, trying to understand the woman's vibe as she had departed. She had not made any further eye contact as she was speaking, and had even turned away as she was speaking the last couple of words, clashing with the attention that she normally gave someone who was speaking. She usually looked at someone in a way that forced one to look her in the eyes, so domineering was her presence.

"Hm." Maybe that was it. Maybe there was a clash between the auras of Tanya and herself that made her feel like she had to back down. It was plausible, but something inside made him think there was more to it than that.

"She's a nice woman, deep down, I think. Sad eyes, though. I wonder what made her like that."

Michael was not surprised by Tanya's observation. In fact he was rather relieved that she had come to the same conclusion as he.

"If you could figure that out, you'd be several steps past most at the agency. No one seems to know except Jean, but he's not talking."

"Hmm..."

The shower became silent and he knew he only had a minute before Jamie came out of the bathroom, so he got his thoughts back on track.

"Tanya, I want you to take that money and catch the next flight back to the states. Make up whatever excuse you need, but go back to the states and don't come back for a long while."

"What? Why would I do that?"

"I have a bad feeling now, and I would feel a lot better if I knew you were safe back at Langley."

"You think they would hurt me?"

"I know that they are paranoid, and that makes them difficult to trust. They have a lot of power, resources, and very defined objectives, but they rely entirely on their secrecy and ability to cover up. Lately I've been wondering just what my own place is with them and have realized that I am as expendable as the next guy, maybe more so, because I am not as committed to their cause as the others. I'm sticking it out because of Jamie, and they know that if I go, she'll go with me."

"You aren't thinking of going, are you?" She could help him, but any escape with a real chance of success would require careful planning. They both knew how to disappear into the night, but staying hidden was much more difficult.

"No. Not now. I can't leave until Jamie can stand on her own without me. She's valuable to them and they will have to use her. If she can function without me, then I stand a chance on my own."

Tanya flinched at his statement, looking away to hide her confusion of his motives. Michael Christiansen could be many things, but he was not one to leave a young woman to the wolves like that. The girl had a place in his heart and he could not abandon her.

Jamie did not hear what was said after that. Her mind was a mix of tangled emotions again, something the medicine was supposed to help, she thought. Michael said he wanted to leave and was making sure she could work alone, to work independently of her handler.

"If she can function without me, then I stand a chance on my own..."

She whispered the words slowly as the water dripped from her hair, down her body, and onto the floor, a pain starting in her heart again, but no tears could form, much as those she had been unable to shed in those days not-so-long ago.

"Damn it."

All of the work she had been putting in for him was only so he could leave her with the agency. Everything, from the dedication she tried to live up to, to the woman she was now able to become on a whim; it was not enough for him.

"Damn you!"

She kicked open the door, startling the pair mid-embrace, her eyes hinting at a fury which her recent conditioning held back.

"You are not leaving me, Michael! You can't leave me alone with the agency. I'd rather die than live there without you!"

The young woman's shouting stunned Michael momentarily, a sign she took as indifference rather than the concern he truly held.

"Jamie-"

"NO! No." Her voice lost the strength she had managed to gather, slipping back into the almost pathetic cry for help that reminded him so much of an abandoned kitten. "You can't. I won't let you leave me. I can't live without you. This thing that I am now... I can only stand it because I'm with you."

"Jamie, I am not leaving you." He slipped from Tanya's arms and went to her, but she held out her arm, keeping him at a distance as she sagged against the wall. Her strength was leaving her so quickly and she knew it could only be the agency's work. She fought to stay up, forcing her legs to obey her past her weakness.

"I heard you. You're going to leave when I can work on my own."

"Jamie, that's not what I said."

" 'If she can function without me, then I stand a chance on my own...' That's what you said to her. If you can get rid of me, you might be able to get away from them." Jamie managed to give him a look of disgust that she must have practiced in the mirror; so unmistakable was the glare in her eye.

"Yes, he said that." Tanya stood and went to Jamie's side, helping to prop her up. Jamie had no ability to confront her as it was taking every ounce of mental fortitude to focus on Michael. "But he said something else that you didn't hear."

"What?"

"He said that he could not leave you with them in any good conscience, so any plans he and I might share for our future must include you as well."

"I- I don't understand. I'm just in the way."

"Jamie, you've been my sole reason for living for almost a year. You've been the one person I know I can trust out of that whole damned agency, the only person who gives a damn about me for who I am rather than what I'm worth. What I asked of Tanya was probably more than I have any right to, especially given what she's had to endure so far for my sake, but I can envision a home having you in it more than I can one without you."

Michael finally made it the last step to Jamie and took her in his arms, holding her tight like she really needed someone to at that moment.

"I'm not going anywhere without you, Jamie, and I need you to know that in your heart, more than anything else."

The girl relaxed into the safety of his arms, her anger and fear evaporating and her strength slowly starting to build again.

"I know, Michael. I know. Sometimes- I just can't get away from the feeling that everyone is going to leave me alone again. My parents, my friends... In spite of their love, I was alone."

"Michael is not that type, Jamie." Tanya left them standing by the wall in order to go to the nightstand and light up a cigarette, her own frustration seeking an outlet. "He was never far from my heart, no matter how angry I was at him for what happened. I was planning on the two of us going back to the states together eventually, but if he wants his sister to live with us... well, I guess I'll have to deal with that to love him... Because I can't live without him anymore either."

There was a silent minute while the thoughts jumped back and forth in their heads, silence that was finally broken by Michael's phone ringing it's distinctive tone.

"It's Ferro, telling me to hurry."

"Then go. I'll stay another day and enjoy the amenities. You have work to do so we can be together eventually."

Michael made sure that Jamie could stand on her own before releasing her to go to Tanya, looking beautiful in her long, unkempt, blonde hair, loosely tied robe, and lit cigarette, as if she were some character out of a romance novel. Jamie took the moment to leave them to themselves, realizing suddenly that she was not wearing anything at all when she burst from the bathroom. She grabbed her clothes and slipped back into the room, dressing as fast as she could despite the lingering effects of the conditioning.

"Tanya. Thank you."

"I know I know." She took a long drag and exhaled slowly, sighing at how hopeless the man she loved was. "I was really hoping we could spend Christmas together. The last time was that Chinese drug factory."

"It was the only Christmas we were able to spend together." He put his hands on her hips and drew close, the only person she would ever allow to get so close to her.

"And New Years. God I miss New Years with you."

He could see she was fighting her own sadness at their impending separation, the cigarette her only solace.

"I know. I promise you, with all of my heart, that we will spend next Christmas together. Alone together, with a warm fire, a case of wine, and the most luxurious blanket I can find. We'll wrap ourselves together in it and not come out until after New Years, if we come out at all."

She closed her eyes to imagine it and smiled at the scene.

"I love you."

"I know you do." She accepted his kiss that had surprised her with her eyes closed, sighing as he wrapped her in his strong arms in what was going to be the last time for a while.

"This is going to be hard to deal with, Michael."

"I know, but we've survived worse."

"Not willingly."

They parted and he dressed quickly, packing up the rest of things to join Jamie's gear by the door. She emerged from the bathroom in her casual attire and picked up both of her guitar cases, allowing Tanya to open the door to the hall for her.

"Tanya, I want to thank you for everything you've done. Some of the things I've said... I didn't mean them. It's just... I love him too, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. You can pay me back by remembering what I've taught you about yourself. No one limits you but yourself."

"Yes, I can see that now. Thank you. Good bye." She bowed slightly in respect and started down the hall.

"It's time, Tanya." He stopped in front of her and was not surprised when she wrapped her arms around him again and her tears dripping onto his shoulder.

"Please, Don't go. Stay here with me."

"I can't." It was hard for him to say to her, but dragging their departure out any longer would hurt them both even more.

Tanya hugged him tightly one last time and then backed away, wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay. I couldn't love someone who couldn't be selfish at a time like this, especially someone as beautiful and deadly as you." He reached out and brushed her hair from her brilliant blue eyes. "Don't change at all, Tanya. When Valentine's Day rolls around, I want you looking just like that, so I can take you in my arms and whisper something in your ear that will make everything alright again."

"Not now?"

"I haven't figured out what it is I'm going to say yet."

She smiled and laughed softly, his admission lightening things enough for her to let go.

"Go on, Michael Christiansen. The bad guys are waiting."

"The first one gets it double for dragging me away from you."

"I'd expect no less. До свидания, Michael."

"До свидания, Tatyana."

Ferro did not say a word when Michael finally tossed his bags in the van and climbed in the passenger seat, instead waiting until he was buckled in before pulling out of the parking lot. They were on the northbound highway before she finally felt comfortable to break the silence.

"Jean called. Everything is on schedule for the mission. The target will be arriving four days after us for the Section One stakeout there. We make our move at our discretion, but we are probably looking at New Years, maybe the week after. There's no way of telling when the contact will show up to meet with them.

"Great... Three weeks in a hotel room with you."

"I haven't told you the best part yet."

"What's that?" Her tone spoke volumes that made him sure he would not like it.

"We're registered as newly-weds."

"Shit." It was going to be a strain on his nerves in every way. "What about Jamie?"

"She'll have her own room in the suite."

"You've thought of everything, huh?"

"Yes. You get the couch."


	11. Chapter 24 to 25

Chapter 24: Those Closest to Us.

"Termini Station... Why does it seem like everything revolves around this place?" Michael stared out of the doors at the cold rain that was falling on Rome, taking a moment of levity to try to forget the past three weeks in Switzerland.

Jamie just looked between Michael and Ferro, who had chosen to ignore his comment. They had not spoken at all on the train, in fact very little since their adventure, making her wonder just what had happened between them while she had been out killing bad-guys.

"I need to phone in again."

"We're a half hour from headquarters, Ferro. Surely it can wait a little longer."

She gave a look that told him she was going to argue with him about it, but finally sighed and trudged out the door, apparently giving in to the fatigue that had been building the whole time they were on their 'vacation'. She was certainly human, as he had found out, but it was interesting how she seemed more robotic than the cyborgs, pushing and pushing herself until her 'machine' finally broke down.

They found his repaired Jaguar where Sandro had parked it and Michael thought he saw a strain in Jamie's face as she climbed in the back seat. Even she had not been able to avoid the stress and he made a mental note to come up with something they could do together to burn it off.

The first sign of things being different at the agency was the extra guards at the gates and the thoroughness with which they glanced at their identity cards. The second was the number of cars in the lot.

"Hmm.." Something was setting off a caution alarm in Michael's head, preparing him for something terrible based on the signs.

"My thoughts exactly." Ferro had noticed as well.

They had to park at the back of the lot, which made the fatigue seem almost unbearable, especially after the numbing train ride. Jamie hauled her cases from the trunk and shouldered her pack, swaying under the weight.

"Want me to carry some of that for you?"

"No, I'm fine." She smiled at him and went on towards the dorm, managing to use her foot to get the door open and miraculously keeping her balance in the process. A sound made her pause at the first-floor landing, her ears straining to identify it through all of the background noises.

It was sobbing, she realized. It was strange to hear in the confines of the agency dormitory, at least at some time other than in the middle of the night, when they were dreaming the things they could not remember.

She followed it up the stairs and past her room to one of the larger rooms where several girls bunked together. Most of the second-generation girls were clustered there, all of them with sad or concerned looks on their faces, masks to cover the pain.

"Um... Hi?"

They all looked up at her voice, including Maria who was the one desperately trying to cry to release some pain she had inside. Her reddened eyes looked at Jamie with a longing, then with an appreciation of a friend arriving at just the right time.

"JAMIE!"

Maria rushed over and leapt at Jamie, knocking them both down in the hallway amidst Jamie's things. The girl was coughing her sobs with a renewed effort, more happy than sad now that her best friend was there to listen and understand.

"Maria! What's wrong? Why are you crying like this?"

She glanced up at the others expecting to find an amused look on their faces at Maria's actions, but she found the same looks of sadness there, even some real pain among a few.

"What? What's happened?" She started to panic a little, the fear of what could cause this reaction creeping into her voice.

"It's..." The girl who spoke up could not continue, her eyes darting away in an effort to contain her own emotions.

"Tell me!"

"There was a terrorist attack in Venice. We lost some cyborgs in the fighting." This was from the girl who everyone knew was heartless. Her handler was probably worse than Jean in the way he treated his cyborg and that attitude made her cold and emotionless; the perfect bearer of bad news.

"Who?"

"Silvia and Beatrice. Chiara barely survived."

"Silvia?" Jamie tried to wrap her head around that one. Silvia, quite possibly the kindest, sweetest cyborg to walk the halls, was dead. And Beatrice... "Beatrice..."

Maria hugged tight to her and continued trying to bawl her eyes out. Silvia was probably the next closest friend she had to Jamie.

"Jesus..."

"That bad?"

"Yeah..."

Hilshire handed Michael a scotch on the rocks and settled into a chair with his own. Triela... His dear Triela, had come face-to-face with her own death yet again and had watched it take someone else, someone she considered to be a friend. It was her nature to try to be strong, but he could see the wound it placed on her soul and it hurt him.

"Damn. What went wrong?"

"Nothing, really. We were just out maneuvered. Giacomo Dante is still alive today because he is a brilliant terrorist."

"Dante... Wasn't he- Shit, the Croce case."

"Yeah. Jean and Jose pulled out the stops to get him this time, only to see him get away. You can imagine how they feel." He sipped his glass and closed his eyes, trying to relax but only finding the image of the bomb going off next to the tower, a tower that contained his Triela. It made his blood chill every time he saw it.

"What's the government's response to our failure?"

"No idea yet, but you can imagine what they will say about the cyborg effectiveness. Two of them dead, one seriously injured. That's three dead cyborgs in less than three months if you include Angelica."

"They're going to pull the plug?"

Hilshire just shrugged at that and Michael finished off his drink, working to see the future with his limited information. If they cut off the agency, what would happen to the girls? Without the technology, would they break down and die? Could they adjust to normal life? Would they just 'retire' them all?

"Damn it."

"I know what I am prepared to do, should the time come to choose a path." There was no need for Victor to explain the comment. He had no real ties to the agency except Triela, and if it came to the unthinkable, he would try to escape with her, or they would both die trying.

"Yeah... I would think several of the others would also, including myself." Jamie would follow him regardless of the dangers.

"Don't let the possibilities of the future cloud your judgment in the present. The situation here is going to get more tenuous, so if there is a way to find the men you are looking for faster, now is the time to try. Things are only going to get worse with Dante declaring war on us. I will help you as much as I can. I owe you for the Ricci-Santorini operation."

"How did that turn out?"

"They are still going at it, but after the first few days worth of hard strikes, they settled down to keep it less apparent. Even the police can only ignore so much. Jamie's part of the plan made the papers throughout Italy: 'Al Capone takes Milan' was one headline."

"I wish I could have been there to see it."

"The stories told of the Angel of Death, robed in blinding white and wielding the 'Lute of Souls', smiling softly as she collected those of her choosing..." They did not really say that, but he figured a bit of the dramatic could make it seem just a bit better than it turned out to be.

"Hm. I thought the effect was rather impressive in my planning. The hard part was finding a short enough dress for someone her height." The rain was continuing outside the windows, and was supposed to the next couple of days. He had no other leads to go on to find the men, and no way to hunt them down except to pound the pavement and hope to stumble onto them, which was possible, but a long-shot at best.

"Oh, there's an envelope on your desk. It arrived two weeks ago from the states."

"Oh? Maybe that's something from Tanya, thanks for mentioning it to me. I think I'll go take a look."

"Good luck, Michael. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks."

The envelope was there as he said, buried under a bunch of paperwork that had piled up in his absence. He tore the flap open and pulled out a file-folder, and a letter. It was Tanya's handwriting, dated the week before she had shown up in Rome, the postmark was from her parents town in Maine, and it was written on US State Department stationary, apparently in a hurry.

_Dearest Michael, _

_Here is a bit of information I managed to come up with, but I really can't go into detail on how. Just know that I have been withholding it for a few weeks to cover up the trail of it to avoid detection. What I have done... Well, lets just say that my loyalty is to you, not my government. Please don't think less of me for it. _

_My mother will mail it at the proper time, which I trust will make it arrive in your hands when you need it most. Use it as you see fit, but try to keep it a bit more discreet than you usually do. There are only a few people high enough up in the ranks to help me, and I have to protect them._

_Please be careful,_

_Tatyana_.

Michael sat down and opened the file, realizing immediately it's importance and the trouble she had getting it. It was a British MI-5 file on a former special ops soldier and his more recent activities. The man's life history, the details of his injury, and when and why he turned to a bad apple were all detailed in the pages. His suspected and confirmed whereabouts, his methodology, and even his psych profile were in there. This was what he had been in need of. He had a name.

More importantly, he had a face.

"The hunt is on."

The rain had started early the next day and the forecast said it was going to continue, turning a mid-January day into a cold, dreary mess. The movement in the office had slowed to a crawl, as people simply did not want to go out and get soaking wet, preferring the warm and dull environment inside.

At his desk, Michael was swamped with folders of all types again, but at least now he could read them. He was busily cross referencing bank accounts, searching for a usable link between them, when a soft breeze announced the entrance of someone into the handler office from the main office, a certain harbinger of more paperwork from on-high. He looked up to see Ferro by his desk, soaking wet and holding a package in her hands.

"Forget your towel today, Ferro?"

"I am not even going to tell you to be quiet. I brought this from the home office. It's addressed to you."

"Me?" He took it and looked for the postmark but there was none, just a strip of tape that indicated it was part of a diplomatic bag, explaining why it hadn't been opened at any point en-route.

"It was delivered to our office by the US attaché, who said it was a special delivery from Langley."

"Maybe it's more data from Tanya. She's been spending a good bit of time tracking down that courier's network for me."

"Well, whatever."

Michael tore the envelope open and found a DVD case nestled in the bubble-wrap. He flipped it over and found a post-it note with a phone number and the words "Call First" hand written on it. It was not Tanya's style.

"What the hell?" He hit the speakerphone and dialed the number, one he recognized as being a Washington cellular area code. There was the digital chirp of an encoding device, interrogating the incoming call for another encoder to create a secure connection, but it found none and then proceeded to connect normally, ringing several times before it was picked up.

"Hello, Mr. Christiansen, it's good of you to call. Do you know who this is?"

Michael's mind searched for the voice in his mind, finding it after a long two seconds.

"Orson Wells."

"Your wit never ceases, does it?"

"No, Mr. George Rathbone, it does not. Neither does my memory. To what do I owe the pleasure of a direct line to a mid-level lackey? Nice encoder, you got there, by the way. Did you find that in a cereal box?"

The voice on the other end didn't react. Then again, George was never one to laugh, which was why Michael had such loathing for the man. Ferro was still standing there, wondering why he was talking with the CIA.

"Actually, I've been promoted to Deputy Director of Operations, and my encoder works just fine, thank you."

"Huh...I guess shit does flow uphill after all. So, what do you want?"

"The disc in your hands was delivered to our embassy in London, and after careful review, we passed it on as the original note asked us to. The Director wanted me to pass on a message for him personally. I think you'll enjoy it."

"I'm all ears."

"Ahem. 'Michael Christiansen, formerly of operations and now disavowed... I, the Director of Central Intelligence, hereby put you on notice that, should you ever be caught with a foot inside United States borders or territories, that you will be arrested, charged, and found guilty of high treason, and summarily sentenced to life in prison without parole, or death, which ever the jury finds more convenient to the tax-payers. Watch the disc. I hope you're happy. Love, your friendly DCI'."

"What?"

"Nice, eh? I added the part at the end, but I thought that with your wit, you'd be laughing. I'm disappointed, but that's nothing new from you."

"What are you talking about, George? What the hell happened to cause this?" he looked up at Ferro who was as stern as ever, not knowing what to say, if anything.

"Just know that your charges would include manslaughter to the tune of three counts. The video covers things. That's all, and don't bother calling me back."

The line disconnected and Michael stared at the speaker, not knowing what to react to first, the accusation of three murders or the fact that he could not return home ever again. Three counts of manslaughter? He could think of two, the two agents in Calais, but the third?

It hit him all at once.

"Shit!" He stood so fast that he bumped the desk and the folders spilled out onto the floor, their contents scattering and mixing into a hopeless jumble. He ran for the hall door with the disc in his hand, nearly bowling over Jamie who was returning with two cups of coffee, and sprinted the distance to the media suite, where all of the audio/video intelligence they brought in was processed, pushing Priscilla and Olga out of the way of the DVD player they were using.

"Hey! Wait your turn, Michael."

"This can't wait." He put the disc in and waited forever while it spooled up, the computer loading it's contents into the hard drive for the usual analysis set up. The screen lit up with a picture from a high-quality mini-video camera. There was a plain cinderblock wall in the frame but the slight shaking of the camera showed that someone was fiddling with the tripod. Olga sighed in boredom and hit the speaker switch to change from their headphones-only sound to the pair of speakers on the racks beside the monitor.

Into the frame stepped a man with a chiseled face, sharp, bearded chin, and almost forty years old. He was dressed in a light fatigue set with everything sharp and in place, reeking of a military bearing. He sat down on a stool before the camera and grinned, and Michael knew he'd just laid eyes on the Devil's own face.

"Good morning, Mr. Christiansen. I hope I'm catching you at a good time. You might not know my face, but you certainly know my name by now."

"Sergeant Ian Amherst, formerly Special Air Service." The file picture did not do the man justice, as he looked to have lost weight and even become more handsome.

"I _am_ Ian Amherst, and I want you to know that I know more about you than you do about me." He paused for dramatic effect. "Mr. Christiansen, you have proven to be a pest to myself, and more importantly, to my organization. In Prague you threatened a loyal customer and killed a favored courier of my company."

The others in the room were glued to the video, and he caught Ferro out of the corner of his eye. Jamie was there also, still holding the coffees.

"Since then you have crossed paths with some of my more immediate subordinates, and to your credit, you've killed them with a skill and bravado I could not expect. I now find myself having to work around your actions, and that is very time consuming, particularly where my art is concerned." Amherst leaned forward, his hands clasped together as a corporate CEO might. "You now have my full and undivided attention, Mister Christiansen, but I'm not entirely certain I have yours. So..."

He pulled a small stack of black and white photos from a spot on the floor, holding the first up to a place where the camera could see it clearly. It was a photo of Michael and Jamie in Rome, just before the bombing. The next one was from just before Switzerland, their faces visible behind the glass of a cafe. The third was a close up of Jamie, gazing into the night sky in her white dress. He pulled the pictures back and set them down, returning to his previous pose.

"Everyone has a weak spot, Mister Christiansen, and it's usually those closest to us. My people have been watching you and your partner and have not yet been able to find a point where they can get to her. That only takes time, and time is on my side, not yours."

Ferro spun around and picked up the nearest phone, dialing it with record speed.

"Jean, I need you down in the media suite, right now." The urgency in her voice communicated how fast he needed to be there. Someone was watching Agency personnel, and no one could be happy about that.

"You can imagine my frustration on not being able to clear this up quickly. I'm a neat and orderly person by nature, my films aside. The Interpol agents I took out were amateurs compared to you, sir, and in that you have my respect. But business is business, and I need you to back off immediately. To that end, you can imagine my pleasure when my people found another crack in the wall. One a bit easier to pry on."

"Jesus, no." Michael's fists were balled up and pasty white from the death grip he had.

Amherst stood and spun the camera around, panning it to view a naked figure, a woman, tied to a chair. Her body was bruised and several places indicated internal bleeding from broken bones. The soulless look from behind blackened eyes told of the brutal assault she had endured, both body and mind now beyond the ability to feel pain.

"Tanya..." Jamie dropped the coffee but no one noticed, so in shock at what they were watching.

"She was a tough one, I'll admit. It must be the CIA training in her but after a few days I managed to crack her. She still has most of her fingers, though, so maybe they need to train them better. The fellows enjoyed her and wanted me to pass on their thanks to you."

Jamie looked at Michael, reading only an intense hatred in his face. She had never seen that look before, but it was enough to scare her into looking at the monitor again.

"Now I know I have your full attention. I have ordered my people to stop actively hunting you, but if any of them were to see you, they have orders to eliminate on sight. This is an order they will follow to the letter and I trust you know enough not to test it."

He stepped into the camera's view with a pistol and stepped behind Tanya, the sound of the Beretta's hammer being cocked coming clearly through the camera's microphone.

"You will cease pursuing my company and drop this senseless vendetta you have..."

He grabbed Tanya's hair and jerked her head back to have her look straight into the camera. Michael wasn't sure what Amherst was hoping she'd do, but the look in Tanya's eyes said what her smashed mouth could not. She hadn't fought and lost. She was still fighting. She had faced Death too many times to be afraid of him, and now that he was coming for certain, she was still looking for a chance to kick Death in the balls.

"Otherwise, I will have to find another crack in the wall and do something truly terrible." He put the gun to the side of Tanya's head and fired.

Everyone in the room had dealt out death at some point or another, many up-close and personal. Those that were less experienced or less inclined looked away when the finale was clear. The rest watched in their own states of shock and disgust as a woman's life was snuffed out, jolting at the sound of the shot, which was distorted as the microphone's tolerances were exceeded.

Michael just stared, unable to look away from the end of the woman he had loved, and not even flinching at the shot, so numb his senses had become in preparation for the event.

The killer let Tanya's lifeless and shattered head roll forward, the gruesome scene almost surreal. He flicked his wrist, slinging the blood and matter off of the gun with a wet slap as it hit the floor, and then exited stage left, slowly and deliberately.

"Here endeth the lesson."

They could hear each other's shallow breathing, so encompassing was the silence. No one knew what to do, least of all Jamie, but somewhere in her heart she felt an intense pain, and a whisper in her soul spoke up and told her to help Michael, because he could not survive his grief without her. It seemed like good advice and she wished she could figure out where it came from.

Priscilla dropped her clipboard, it's clatter deafening and Jamie's eyes snapped where everyone else's were already trained. Everyone watched Michael, sensing a transformation in his soul and waiting for a sign.

Ferro alone knew that he now had no country to go home to, and the man who had been picked up from the gutter by the agency had finally lost the two things he never really had lost. This was going to be bad.

He started to retreat inward, the blame game starting in his head. Why had he met with her? Why had he sought her out in Prague? Why hadn't he done something, anything, to protect her, especially since every instinct they both possessed screamed that something was seriously dangerous to them?

Each question was an accusation in itself, and his anger was evident in the way he slammed his fists onto the desk after each. On the second one he caught the corner between his knuckles and ripped his skin, the blood flowing and the pain heightening his anger to a nearly fever pitch.

Jamie stepped in and grabbed his wrists, stopping him as gently as possible.

"Michael, please stop."

It got his attention, but the look he turned at her with was the same one that scared her before. He turned to walk away and Jamie made the mistake of holding onto his arm too long, restraining him. He wanted out of there, out of that place, out of that life, and this person, who couldn't even stand to be without him for a while, was trying to stop him. Who was she to tell him to stop?

Jamie was holding his left arm, so he used his right, caught the right side of her head, and spun, shoving her roughly against the wall with the full strength of his arm. She was caught off-guard and was unable to counter, if she ever could anyway. Surprise was her chief feeling, as she had never expected him to hit her. By the time she had it sorted out and was back on her feet, he was walking out the door past Jean, who had heard the last few minutes of the tape and entirely understood how angry Michael was.

She looked around at the faces surrounding her, seeing a mixture of sorrow, anger, and helplessness, but no one was moving to help Michael with his pain. They were colleagues perhaps but not one of them could be considered a friend, otherwise they would not still be standing there.

Jamie had been trying to reign in her emotions, to maintain control as much as possible, but the intense sickness she felt at the others' responses was something she couldn't control any longer.

"Is anyone going to go after him?" It came out as a plea, a cry for help for his sake.

"He needs time alone to sort this out, Jamie." Jean stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder, letting his humanity slip out some. "I know how he feels and he's the only one who can decide what he's going to do."

Jamie slapped Jean's hand from her shoulder and shoved her way past him, ignoring the warning from her conditioning. "I can't just let him go. He just lost the only other person in the world who gave a damn about him, so I'm stepping up." She glared at the eyes that were on her, hoping every one of them felt bad for the way they were acting.

"You people...You have no loyalty to each other. You're all dead inside, dead to the sound of your own humanity." Something in her mind clicked and suddenly she was angry, truly angry, her heart pounding away and forcing her hot blood through her veins. "You- you have less soul than any of the cyborgs. I hope you all die as alone as I did."

She stormed out and started running, barely making it to the grass outside before her stomach heaved violently, her anger suddenly repressed by the conditioning. It continued for several minutes, dropping her to her hands and knees as the pain wracked her insides. She did not understand what had happened inside, but she had a feeling it was the part of her they could damage, but not destroy.

When her stomach settled for a moment she found the strength to stand by thinking about how much Michael was hurting and she pushed on, catching sight of him through the cold, pouring rain. She ran to him, catching up quickly and falling into step alongside, edging forward enough that he had to know she was there, her sign that she was ready to listen when he wanted to talk.

They just walked, slowly and in silence. Jamie motioned to the guard when they got to the front gate and he let them out, not daring to ask why the two were getting soaked on a long walk towards the main road. To Jamie, it felt like a long walk off a pier; the planks stretching off a long ways but with a fall into an abyss below waiting at the end, an end you can only see if you're watching carefully.

Her heart ached, physically ached, and she began to wonder if there was actually something really wrong with her, but the voice in her mind told her it was not. It was just how much she loved him and that she was feeling his pain because of that love.

"Michael..." Jamie finally found the strength to speak up after they had walked almost a mile in the rain. It was cold, almost freezing, and she felt herself beginning to shiver from its effects and knew that Michael must be in a state beyond feeling if he could ignore the cold. "Michael, please? Please turn around and go back."

His only answer was to finally stop walking, staring at the road ahead of him with the confliction of emotions battling in his head. Anger, sadness, despair, self-pity, they all were fighting for dominance in his head and needed only a trigger to come down on one over the others.

"Michael..." Jamie's hand reached out and touched his, and he suddenly felt that there was someone else who understood what he was feeling, that he was not alone, and that it was okay to grieve. Jamie had been a young woman that was tossed into adulthood with the pain he was feeling. She had felt it again when she watched her two friends murdered before her eyes, knowing all the while that she was to follow. She had lost everything, including herself, and she was still fighting on, fighting for something that she really did not understand entirely, but knowing in her heart that she must fight.

Just as she could understand him, he now understood her, and the strength it takes a human to carry on. It was painful, it was overwhelming, but it had to be done. It was the only thing to do, because it was the only way to live.

Jamie watched Michael try to sort things out in his head. She was at arm's length, but she felt so far away and helpless at having to let him figure it out for himself. She could see it start to finally work it's way into his thoughts and his head dropped to look at the road, hanging as if it were the weight of the world on it. She moved closer, wrapping her other hand around his, willing him to take her strength and make it his own if he needed it to survive.

She looked closer at his face and found tears among the rain drops, tears he was struggling to keep inside for whatever reason men try to hold them in.

"Michael, its- Its okay to cry. No one can take that from you but yourself." She could see the struggle in his face despite his eyes being closed. He needed to let it out, but was mistaken in his thought that it was a sign of weakness, or that he was less of a man. He was going to be useless until he could get over it, and they did not have that kind of time. She was going to have to force it out of him.

"She loved you, Michael. She loved you with all of her heart, and she knew that you loved her, too. She died knowing that you will see each other eventually and for all of eternity, but she wanted you to live."

Michael choked off a sob, squeezing her hand incredibly tight and fighting to hold it in. He would wear down eventually, but it was a question of how much pain he inflicted on himself before then.

"Tanya-" Jamie felt herself choke off at the name, realizing that at some point, she had accepted the woman as a part of her own life through Michael's. "Tanya was able to live her life because you helped her, and-" Jamie's own tears started flowing as the sadness of it all hit her. "I know that she came back to you because it was the only place she could find happiness in her life."

Michael collapsed to his knees on the road, the water instantly soaking any part of his legs that had not been drenched before, the feel of the cold water a stark contrast to the numbness he felt inside. His eyes were pouring tears in spite of his efforts to dam them and he could feel again as they poured down his cheeks.

He could feel the love that he felt for her and the agony of the fact that he would never, ever see her again in this life. He would never feel her breath against his lips or the warmth of her skin against his. He would never again feel the comfort of knowing that she was thinking exactly as he, and knowing that she would protect him when he could not, and that she loved him enough to expect the same of him.

The pain was real. It was the knowledge that her love for him brought her to this place in this time, and that she died because of something that he started. If he had not sought vengeance, she would have lived.

It was that simple.

"Oh God, I killed her."

"No, Michael, you didn't."

"WHY? WHY DID I CHOOSE THIS?" He screamed it at the rain with all of his voice, the tears streaming from his eyes. He was demanding an answer.

"No, Michael! You didn't do this! This wasn't your fault."

"If I hadn't gone to Prague, she would still be alive!"

"And she would be unhappy. She was happy at the end, young and full of life, but only because of you. You completed a part of her that she hated because it was empty. You can't believe that what you did was wrong, you just can't! It makes everything that happened worthless, and it wasn't for nothing. For a little time you both knew happiness again, something you had both lost and forgotten. I saw a side of you that I envied her for. It was a warm, affectionate person who had reason to live. She knew it too, and wanted you to be that person."

"I- I can't. I can't just let her go." He was doubled over, holding his stomach from the pain inside. Jamie hugged him tight, struggling to get through to him.

"Don't. Never let her go from your heart, but you have to move on eventually, and I know you can do it because I did it. When my parents died, I couldn't go on any more. I tried. I cried and cried, but the pain never went away. It was everywhere I went. It's still there, Michael, and it still hurts, but I can go on because I know they loved me enough to want me to."

Her voice had changed slightly as she spoke, going from a pleading cry for him to try to understand, to a commanding voice of experience, telling him he _could_ go on, and that he _must_ go on. Michael looked up at her and saw a radiant Jamie: one different from the one he saw everyday. For a moment he saw the face of Janet Wells, a sad and compassionate face, but with an underlying strength that knew no bounds. It was gone in a flash and the slightly different face of Jamie was back, looking concerned.

"Michael?"

Her voice was far away and he struggled to pull it closer to him, but the ground was coming up to meet him so fast. An arm reached out and caught him, pulling him back upright just as all of the sound in the world went on strike and left him. He was weak, shivering uncontrollably as hypothermia was finally starting to take its toll and his mind started shutting things down to save him from the cold.

"Michael!"

He saw her face as she mouthed his name and looked up in fear, looking around for help.

She looked worried.

Chapter 25:

"He'll be okay, Jamie. He just needs to warm up and rest."

"Okay, thank you, doctor." Jamie looked at her friends, Maria and Petrushka, and smiled weakly at them, still shivering in her soaked clothes. "I guess I did something right, huh?"

Triela was there also, standing just inside the doorway, looking the same as she had the days following the defeat in Venice. There was something maturing about losing friends in combat, and Triela had grown up more in the weeks since Angelica than she had in years.

"Hi, Triela. What's up?"

"Hilshire wanted you to know... They found the body of Tatyana Sokolov in Milan. They put her in a garbage bag and left it in an industrial dumpster to be buried away without notice. A foreman spotted something amiss and called it in. I guess he wanted you to know that she is going to be flown back to her parents in the states."

"But Michael won't be up for several days, and he can't go back anyway."

"I know. Maybe it'll help if he knows that she was laid to rest." She turned and left, unsure of what more she could do in this situation, one she was simply not prepared for.

The others watched Jamie as she stared at Michael's sleeping form, knowing she was worried beyond anything they could really understand. It is the nature of friendship to want to do something to help, and the worst feeling when the only help is to wait patiently for something that may or may not come.

"Is there anything else we can do, Jamie?" Maria was still suffering from her own loss of a friend, but was determined to have strength for her best friend, who always had strength enough for them both.

"No. He's sleeping and warming up. I'll be here all night, so you two should go and take care of yourselves. If I need something, I'll call."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Thank you. I know I can always count on you."

"Okay. Get some rest for yourself, as well."

She watched them go, the knowledge that she was not alone brought her comfort and warmth that helped take the chill from her soaked body. She quickly changed into the clothes they had brought with them and settled into a chair with her Bible, a gift from Michael, though it was used and well worn. It had belonged to a devout believer, she was sure. She did not know why she felt compelled to turn to it, but she felt there was something in the pages that could help her. She had plenty of time on her hands at the moment, so why not try to find it?

Michael awoke to the soft tones of Jamie's guitar, glancing around for it in the dim light and finding her in the chair by the window, seemingly her favorite place to play as she could look out at the world and sing to it, perhaps to make it right again. He did not disturb her from her playing as the gentle chords and finger- picked notes made him feel calm despite the things that had just happened to him. Before he could dwell on them further, she started to sing, her voice loud enough to fill the room but soft enough to show her restraint in its dynamics.

"_I lift my eyes to the hills_

_Where does my help come from._

_My help comes from the Lord above_

_He who made both Heaven and the Earth._

_And I will not be shaken,_

_He that watches over me will not slumber._

_And He that watches over Israel_

_Shall neither slumber nor sleep._

_The sun will not harm you by day_

_Nor will the moon by night_

_The Lord above will deliver you from evil_

_In Him the soul shall not perish_

_The Lord will watch over all that you do_

_For now, and for evermore._

Jamie opened her eyes and glanced over to check on him, stopping abruptly when she saw him watching her.

"Michael!"

She quickly set her guitar down and went to his side, insisting on helping him sit up until he waved her off, preferring to do it his self.

"What was that song?"

"That? Oh, it's a kind of upbeat version of Psalm 121. I was reading that Bible you gave me and I came across that chapter. It just sounded so familiar, and eventually I felt it come to me as a song. I'm sorry I woke you up with it."

"No, you're fine Jamie, I was waking up anyway." He could tell he was in a hospital bed and the worried look on her face told him that he must have been pretty bad at some point. "What happened?"

"You collapsed on the road. You were so cold and wet that you were starting into stage-two hypothermia, and I think with the stress and shock from... Well, you just couldn't deal with it."

"You carried me back?"

"Well, yeah. I couldn't just leave you there to die." It had been a long trek with him on her back, but she had made it to the front gate before being unable to go any further. The guards did the rest for her.

"Maybe you should have." He leaned back in the bed and covered his eyes with his hands, trying to get the image of Tanya's death out of his mind.

"No! You need to stop thinking like that. It was not your fault, Michael; it was theirs. They did that to her... and they did it to me."

She gently pulled his hands from his eyes, forcing him to deal with the world around him because she knew it was the only way to move on. You had to take one day at a time and be _willing_ to face them each in turn. It was the only way.

His eyes were red and she could see tears forming in them, his face showing all of the despair he had inside. She held his hands and tried to smile a little for him, helping him in the only way she knew how.

"Tell me..."

"What?"

"What do you see when you close your eyes? That video?"

"Yeah." It was there every time and he could not simply blink it away.

"I know how that is. It's hard to deal with. The bodies of those we kill, those come and go, but they never stay for long. It's always the faces of those we love that stick with us." She looked out the window, staring into her own soul for the common ground between them, trying to put her solutions into words for him. "My friends... I see them every night before I sleep now. I can't even remember their names but the faces are there, locked into the eternal stare of the dead. I can't remember the good times we had, but I know there were some. I'm sure of it, because I can feel the love we shared."

She gave his hands a firm squeeze for support, letting him know in the simplest terms the mind can understand that he was not alone.

"You need to think of the good times with her and lock them into your head while you still have them. You can't dwell on how she died. Get in the habit of replacing those with thoughts of how she lived. Her laugh, her voice and her smile, and the times when you saw the side of her that she never showed anyone else. Those are the things that made her special to you, not how she was taken from you. Save that image for when we finally meet them."

"I'm trying, but it's just so hard."

"I know, but you have to move on. If not just for yourself, then do it for me as well. It hurts to see you in pain like this, Michael, and I am trying my best to help, but I can't help you if you won't help yourself."

"I know..." He hugged her tightly; this time for his own needs rather than her own. He let her go after several minutes, feeling at least a little better now. "How did you get to be so smart?"

"I had a great teacher." By which she meant Michael, which made him return her smile.

"I have to run out and take care of some things, Michael. I hate to leave you, but I can't trust anyone else to do it for me." She slid off of the bed and packed her things to go back to the dorm."

"You're not going out to look for trouble, are you?"

"No. This is just something I need to do. You should get a little more rest. I'll stop by later this morning."

"Okay." He watched her carry her things to the door, then finally made a decision. "Jamie."

"Yes." She looked back, worried that she might have forgotten something.

"Your friends..." He fought with the best way to say it. "Angela and Carol."

"Carol... Angie... Yeah, that sounds about right." She closed her eyes and locked the images into her head, placing the names with the faces, getting a warm, friendly feeling and knowing that they were right. "You know more about them?"

"A little."

"Hold onto that so you can tell me about them later." She waved and stepped out, leaving Michael with his pillow and a head full of images he was going to have to sort out before he was going to be useful again.

"Thanks, Jamie," he whispered to himself.

"Um, Priscilla? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The members of the Intel team looked up from their coffees at Jamie whose face was plastered with a shy, shameful look. Priscilla excused herself and joined Jamie as she stepped out into the hall.

"What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. Michael will be well again soon, but I wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday in the media room."

The woman shook her head and smiled with embarrassment, waving her hands in that amusing way that she had.

"No, it's not necessary. You had your point in that some of us don't think of the others as close friends, let alone family."

"The others, perhaps, but not you. You really care about everyone here and that's why everyone likes you. What I said should not have been aimed at you at all, and I'm sorry if it seemed like I was grouping you in with the others."

"It's okay, Jamie. I accept your apology."

"Thank you!" Jamie smiled warmly and gave Priscilla a friendly hug.

"Is that all you needed?"

"Well, no, but I don't know if you can help me with the other thing."

"Well, tell me and we'll see what we can do."

Jamie steadied her nerves and put on her warmest face.

"Well, Michael is still pretty down, as you can imagine, so I thought that if I grabbed him some fresh clothes, a few books, and things from his apartment that he might be able to cheer up a little, but you know I can't go out without supervision."

"And you want me to supervise?"

"If it's not too much trouble for you. I hate to ask, but all of the handlers are busy tracking down Giacomo, and I don't think anyone else is willing to help." A disappointed face for a sad situation.

"Well, I think I'll have to do a little sweet-talking, but I think I can get Jean to sign off on it. Give me a few minutes."

"Well, I have to go to my room and change, so when you find out for sure, call me there."

"Okay. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes."

"Thanks Priscilla. I really appreciate this."

"It's not a problem, really."

Priscilla stepped down the hall towards Ferro's office and Jamie nearly ran back to her room, taking the stairs two at a time and virtually slamming through the door, startling Maria from her book.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm going to town for a little while." She glanced over and caught her friend's concerned look.

"Michael's not out of the hospital yet. You're not going to jump the fence, are you?"

"No. Priscilla is giving me a ride."

"Oh." Maria went back to her book, satisfied that there was not going to be any trouble.

Jamie quickly worked into a t-shirt and jeans and checked her Walther, settling it into her favorite spot behind her right hip. Her jacket easily covered it without riding up and she finished it off with a warm, knitted hat.

"How do I look?" She spun in place for Maria's appraisal.

"Like the girl next door going to the ice-rink."

"Perfect."

Her fake driver's license and papers went into her purse while her agency one went into her jeans along with Michael's cell-phone and car keys. Her basic lock-pick set was tucked into a small hidden pouch in the jacket and a pair of extra magazines for her gun went into the regular pocket to be ready at a moment's notice.

She was ready when the phone rang, jumping to the desk to answer it.

"Hello, this is Jamie."

"Hi. We've got permission for a few hours."

"Okay. Meet me at Michael's Jaguar and I'll drive in."

"Err...Is that going to be okay?"

"It'll be fine. See you in a few."

Maria laughed softly after Jamie hung the phone up.

"What?"

"Taking big brother's car out? He's not going to be happy."

"He'll be okay with it." She started for the door before realizing she forgot her purse on the desk, going back for it.

"Just don't scratch it. He just got it back."

"I know. Quit being such a worrier. It'll be fine. I'll be right back."

"Have fun."

"Are you sure he's going to be okay with you taking the car, Jamie?" Apparently Priscilla was not a believer either.

"It's fine. I've driven it a few times before and he never complained about my driving. I'm a graduate of Olga's Precision Protection Detail Driving School, so how bad can I be?"

"That's not a good argument, Jamie. I've seen the way she drives normally."

Priscilla climbed in the Jag and watched Jamie carefully for any signs that she might be out of her league. She relaxed when the car started and they drove at a safe speed to the front gate. The guard gave them an evil eye and even called to verify their pass, but let them through after the confirmation, even giving them a courteous wave good-bye.

Jamie gave it the gas when she hit the highway, determined to save some pass-time on the highway.

"You're in a hurry?"

"Hm? Oh... No, not really. This is how I usually drive." She passed a vehicle that was actually doing the speed limit, not even bothering to stick behind it for a moment, and swerved back into her lane, passing fairly close to an oncoming truck. The controlled recklessness was enough to keep Priscilla on edge and watching the road, rather than Jamie's face as she had lied. She was making her plans.

"You know, I could have driven us. I have a small car for the winter, you know."

"Like I said, this is fine. Besides, if those bastards that killed Tanya come calling, I want every bit of hardware I can get my hands on. The Beo in the trunk will stop almost anything dead in its tracks, plus there's a few grenades if we need them."

"Jamie!" It was clear from her voice that Priscilla thought they might be out for some hunting.

"It's okay. Like I said, it's only if they come looking for trouble. We're going to Michael's apartment and then back to the agency. I wouldn't do anything that would get you in trouble anyway. You're too nice to everyone."

Another smile along with the cheery voice disarmed Priscilla completely, setting her at ease.

"Okay. Just make sure we don't get pulled over for speeding."

The smell of burnt coffee assaulted them as the door opened, making Jamie wince at Michael's forgetfulness.

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder if he's okay without me by his side all of the time." She went to the kitchen and flipped off the coffee maker, removing the carafe and eyeing the black sludge in the bottom with disgust. "This one's ruined."

"Hmph, it happens. I've melted down a few over the years." Priscilla walked slowly around the living room, eyeing the decor and noticing that it did not really read into Michael's personality. If anything, it seemed rather neutral in its style, being comfortable but saying nothing about its owner. Maybe it was his habit from being undercover. Maybe he was just shallow in regards to decor.

There was, however, a single red rose in a vase on the coffee table, fresh-cut and in bloom.

"Hmm... What do you make of this, Jamie?"

"Eh?" She spun around in time to see Priscilla pick it up, and then rushed over, taking it from her quickly and putting it back into the vase, turning to protect it.

"Please, leave this alone. Michael bought it yesterday morning. He was planning on keeping a fresh rose on the table until Tanya came back and they could be together. That was before-," she trailed off into a daze for a moment before setting the vase back on the table.

"I'm sorry."

"It's nothing. You couldn't have known, so I doubt he would take offence. Maybe I'm just a bit jumpy after yesterday. I just want to leave things as they are for him. It's going to be hard enough for him when he comes back."

"Yeah." Priscilla looked around again before settling into a chair. "Lets hurry up here."

"Right." Jamie went to the bedroom to get Michael's garment bag, glancing at her watch the moment she was out of view. Time was the limiting factor today, so she had to work quick and efficient.

There was the sound of a cell phone ringing and Priscilla's chirpy voice. Jamie did not bother listening, because the details weren't important. After a minute, Priscilla leaned in the bedroom door with her apologetic smile.

"Hey, Hilshire just called. He needs some documents from the home office a few blocks down, so I'm going to run down there and back real quick, okay?"

"Sure. I'm going to do a bit of cleaning real quick while you're at it."

"Okay." She stepped in further and held out her hand expectantly. "Give me the keys."

Jamie could not hold back a glare that fired off at Priscilla. "Why?"

"Because, I'm responsible for your safety and conduct at the moment, and I would feel better if I had the keys."

"Oh. I see." She pulled them from her jeans and placed them in her hand. "I guess I still need to earn some more trust, huh?"

"Jamie, it's not like that. I just-"

"Don't worry about it. I know that I can't be trusted to supervise myself. Everyone thinks that just because Michael is the wild type that it means that I am also. Well I'm not. I'm going to stay right here and clean up so that he can relax when he gets home tomorrow. Go do your thing." She waved Priscilla out of the room and then watched her as she left. She relaxed a little after the door finally clicked shut.

"Hmph... Like I can't be trusted."

She pulled out Michael's cell phone and hit the speed-dial.

"Hilshire."

"Thanks."

"I owe Michael a few favors, so I'll bill him for it. I'm not going to ask what you're doing, but I am going to tell you to keep it low-key."

"I'm not leaving the apartment until she gets back. I just wanted some time to myself."

"Well, behave yourself."

"I am. Thanks again." She hung up and set her plan into action.

Her time was limited, so she quickly rounded up the things she had to take back to the agency for Michael. With that done, she started a systematic search of his room, looking for every tell he might place on the drawers and doors, and memorizing everything's place in the room. Satisfied that she had it locked in, she started digging in the drawers. It was hard work moving things, checking between the folds of shirts, then putting everything back exactly as she found it.

The minutes wore on as she was searching and she started to worry about running out of time. Surely the files Priscilla was looking for could not be that lost. She finally finished in the closet and turned to the one place that she had been avoiding: Between the mattress and box springs of the bed. He had told her that it was the obvious place to search in a bedroom, as everyone considered it the safest place for that which they never wanted found.

For some reason.

She slid her hand under and felt around, feeling something solid, and then lifted the mattress and slid it to the side, glancing in alarm at the sight. She should not have been surprised, as she had expected such a thing, but it was still slightly disturbing to her. She picked up a few of the magazines and thumbed through them, noting a pattern among them.

"Hot for teacher, eh?" They all had "models" dressed in teacher/librarian styles, mostly in poses that seemed impossible to contort to. "This certainly falls into the 'too much information' department." She set them to the side, a little disgusted with herself, though a part of her mind filed it away with a note that she should get some fake glasses and see how he would respond to her.

The next one confused her for a moment. "The Weekly Standard?" No nude pictures, just lots of conservatism. "Well, I guess you _would_ have to hide something like that in Europe."

The final one was an issue of 'Soldier of Fortune' magazine.

"I don't get it." There was a dog-eared page near the middle and she flipped to it, coming across a short article about a friendly-fire incident in Iraq. The text seemed normal, and as tragic as the incident was, it did not seem to have any bearing on her task.

"C'mon. It's got to be here."

But it was not. That was the last of the magazines hidden under the bed, leaving only a rectangular indentation in the padding where they had been.

"I thought for sure..." She slumped to the floor and tried to think. There really was not any other place he could hide something. The walls were not wallpapered or anything that could conceal a panel. The carpet was undisturbed...

"Maybe I'm just imagining it all."

She put her head in her arms and shut her eyes for a moment, clearing her head of everything. When she opened her eyes, she wondered if she might be seeing things. She pulled the nightstand lamp over and lowered it to put the box spring padding in sharp relief with the light. The change in lighting showed the clear outline of a DVD case-sized form under the padding and she quickly started feeling under the bed for that location. It was a stretch but her fingers closed on the case and pulled it free of the top of the spring where it had been hidden.

"Ha! I knew it."

She opened the plain case and pulled out the disk inside, it's blank sides giving no hint as to its contents, not that it mattered. She knew what was on it.

It was her life, or more accurately, the end of it. Who she had been was on the disk in her hands, and now that she had it, it was only a matter of having the courage to view it. She knew she should not be snooping around like she was, but a part of her kept saying that Michael was still holding back from her. That same part told her that he had to have the movie. It was the only way to explain the look he had given her the few months before in the agency parking lot: that sad, pained look, followed by the mysterious apology.

"I'm sorry..." Was he sorry for holding back his knowledge? Or was he sorry for her?

Regardless of his reasons, she had to know what it was that happened to her.

"Michael, forgive me... But I have to know." She slid the disk into the DVD player on the dresser and hit play, settling onto the floor at the foot of the bed, then steeled herself and hit fast-forward to get through the slow beginning.

"Lets see if we can find them here..." It was the voice of Tommy, the man Michael killed in Milan. He was using a hidden camera as he prowled the crowd at a club, the decor and atmosphere giving Jamie a familiar feeling. A second voice came over the microphone and there was a jolt as the wearer was tapped on the shoulder, shaking the camera.

"There they are!"

"Ready?"

"Always, mate."

Jamie was going to speed through the next several minutes, but a frame caught her eye and she paused, and then slowly searched backwards for it. She stopped on a frame showing three girls at a table, settling into the relaxed mood as they sipped their drinks. Two were the girls from her dreams; the third was almost a twin to herself. It was the girl she saw as the main character in her dreams, and with the exception of her hair length and a few shape differences in her face, they were exactly the same.

"It _is_ me."

Her heart began to pound with the realization. She had suspected, even known intellectually, but seeing the positive proof was harder still. They had changed her face along with her body, and in spite of the similarities, her current body now felt fake, a facade put on for the amusement of the masses.

"Lets get this over with."

She jumped ahead to the next chapter.

It was not the first time she had her head in a toilet, but it was certainly the longest, she reflected as she continued dry-heaving, spitting the remnants of bile from her mouth after each wave and begging her stomach to calm down. She had held it down until the end, but the last moments of her life were the hardest to take.

With the simple watching of a video, she had been transported in time and place to that cruddy warehouse in Paris, with the heat of the lights, the smell of the blood, and the cold, sharp slice of the steel. The screams and cries were real again, the memory of them burned into her brain as if she were there now. It was all familiar to her in every detail, and she relived every terrifying moment once more.

She could see the cold look in the eyes of the man with the camera, feel the hot breath of the director, and the sweaty hands as they violated every part of her without any remorse, without concern of the pain they caused.

The thoughts would not leave her head now, and every time she thought about it, she started heaving again, even harder than the previous time. Her insides were a solid mass of pain and convulsions, her body out of control.

"Oh, God..." She started crying between waves, her attempts to cry out coming in a hoarse croak. "God, no... Why did it have to be us? Why me?"

She just cried and cried, and the tears felt cool on her cheeks. The sobbing seemed to throw her stomach off of its routine, settling it down a bit as she bawled her eyes out at her plight. She now had the last few hours of her life back in clear detail, every filthy, god-awful detail. Now that she had it, what would she do? She had to get back the rest of her life, and that meant killing them.

The thought made her smile a little inside, enough that she felt able to get to her feet and splash cold water on her face to clear the tracks of her tears and rinse the taste from her mouth. She hesitantly looked in the mirror and saw the face of Janet Wells looking back at her. She touched the cheek in the glass and traced it down to her chin, connecting with the identity she had lost, the one that had been taken from her by force.

"We will kill them. Just you and me."

There was a smile on the face in the mirror and it made Jamie laugh softly, her giggles morphing into a full-on laugh as tears of joy began to run down her face. It was all so simple now and she felt the fool to not have seen it before.

Her laughter subsided into a growl as she started to think of just what she was going to do to them when she found them. They would suffer; suffer as no one had before. Not the Crusades, not the Witch Trials, not the Inquisition... No one would comprehend the terror and pain that she would unleash on those she hated in her heart.

"Jamie, I'm back!"

Priscilla's voice involuntarily forced the feelings to the back of her mind, her face wiping completely of the dark presence she had taken on. In the mirror was only Jamie, the cute cyborg. She splashed her face again and dried it with the towel, flushing the commode before venturing out in her robotic disguise.

"Hi."

"Are you okay? You look a little pale." She was concerned and stepped closer to check on the girl but was pushed back gently."

"It's okay, I'm fine. My stomach was acting up, that's all. Maybe it's from dealing with Tanya and Michael and all that."

"Oh, okay. Well, I got the files Hilshire needed, so we can go whenever you're ready."

"Alright. Let me grab Michael's favorite robe from his room. Go ahead and take the other bags down to the car." She pointed to the ones near the door and waited for the woman to leave, then rushed to the bedroom and put everything back exactly as she had found it, leaving no stone looking as if it had been turned. She was back at the door with the robe and a smile when Priscilla returned to lock up.

"Ready?"

"Absolutely." She smiled, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the knowledge that her new life now had an absolute goal- the total annihilation of several human beings.

The morning brought with it more rain and a reminder to Jamie that she had a purpose to serve. She rubbed her eyes and noted that they were dry; there had been no nightmare during the night, a surprise given what she now knew. Maybe having the blanks in her brain filled in had settled it down some.

Maria was sound asleep in her bed, curled up with the tattered stuffed animal that she kept at the head of her bed. Jamie could only wish her existence were as simple as Maria's. She had the luxury of being the only one of the girls to actually choose to become what she had, the conscious choice to either waste away in a hospital or to live on as a slave, albeit in a gilded cage. It had been a simple choice for someone who had never had anything worth living for.

Not so with Jamie. More and more she was feeling as if what she was doing now was worse than death. A dark stain was on her soul, one that could never wash out, and she now had to believe that if she were given the choice, she would prefer death as who she was rather than living on the way she is. But all of those thoughts were put aside as she quickly dressed for the elements and shouldered her field pack and rifle, slipping out of the room quietly so Maria could continue in her dreams.

It was not yet light out, though the overcast sky showed the tiniest hint of gray to the east as she started jogging down the road towards the range, her camouflage poncho deflecting most of the rain. There was a calming silence to her morning jog that she so enjoyed; solitude of choice that she reveled in despite her fears of being alone. She knew that she could turn around and go back to the others and no longer be alone, but it was her choice. Maybe that is why she liked it so much.

The jog was only enough to get her heart moving and after she set her gear down on the firing line, she ran four laps of the thousand-meter range at a faster pace, feeling the cold droplets as they slapped her face and ran down her chin to join their brethren on the front of her poncho. The morning had turned from black to a light gray by the time she had finished the run and settled down behind her rifle, and she could just make out her targets at the eight hundred yard line through the mist.

Her nerves were on edge as she loaded the magazine and inserted it into the rifle, slapping the bolt forward with an authority that only comes through familiarity with the weapon. It was hers, and only hers... And it was the instrument of her vengeance if only her enemies would foolishly or unknowingly stumble into her sights.

She settled it onto its bi-pod and raised the stock into her shoulder, taking a few controlled breaths to settle her heart and steady her aim. The crosshairs lined up and she read the wind in the raindrops, seeing that it was negligible to her shots at the moment. The safety clicked off as she slightly relaxed her supporting fist at the back of the stock, giving the bullet just a touch more height to make the adjustment for gravity that her brain told her it would need at that moment.

The rifle roared, the blast from the muzzle rippling a shockwave through the cold, torrential rain that was now falling. Over the sound of the rain came a distant clank as the bullet slammed into the steel plate she had painted the target on. She lined up her second shot and placed it right next to the first one, their edges nearly touching. Some of that was luck, as the rifle's accuracy was great, but not miraculous. She had simply become one with her rifle and now had the skill and confidence to know that she could make miracles happen with it.

"You look a lot better, Michael."

Michael forced a smile at Priscilla for her concern for him, trying hard to show that he appreciated it.

"I feel better, I guess. Thanks again for going into town to get my things." He was busy finishing up the touches on his suit and was planning on being officially released as soon as the doctor returned.

"It was Jamie's idea. She was really worried about you, you know, and with everything that has happened, she has been really upset."

"Yeah, well, she and Tanya kind of got to be sisters there just before she left. I can't expect her to ignore her feelings any more than I can."

Priscilla watched the pained expression on his face and the way that he fumbled with his tie, the knot coming untied and his quiet huff of frustration.

"Here, let me..." She gently turned him to face her and quickly tied it for him, trying not to react to his embarrassment at the situation. "There."

"Thanks Priscilla."

"You can thank me by not giving up on yourself, and by remembering that I am willing to listen any time you might need to talk."

"That means a lot to me." He startled her by wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug but she quickly understood it for what it was; the genuine appreciation of a friend. When he pulled away, she could see a tear in his eye, a tear that he quickly wiped away and covered over with his sunglasses.

"The Chief gave you a week off while he sorts everything out with the Giacomo thing. I don't really know what he's thinking in regards to your own situation, but I know Ferro is about as intense as I have ever seen her because of the way those guys have been stalking you. They know about Jamie's hit, and I think Jean is worried about the possible selling of that info to Ricci and Santorini. "

"I'm not worried." He stepped to the window to look out on the dreary day.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll be waiting for them..."


	12. Chapter 26 to 27

Chapter 26: Rule 99-Trust is the biggest liability of them all.

It was a quiet and cold night. The clouds had cleared off and the new moon left the stars as the only supply of light in the skies, which was not nearly enough to threaten the actions of those who made the night their own. A stealthy figure darted quickly across a clearing to a grassy knoll where his partner lay in wait.

"Done. We'll hear everything that is said."

"It took you long enough."

"I had to wait for the dogs to walk be walked far enough down to avoid detection. It's not like you have room to talk, Jamie."

"I know, I know..." Jamie glanced through her scope again at the window in Antonio Santorini's mansion, the faint forms of people visible in the digital thermal/infrared sight she had mounted to her rifle. It was a bit strange for her to have an infrared in conjunction with a scope, but she had to admit that she was starting to like it for nighttime operations. Michael settled in next to her under the blanket she was using both as cover and to keep warm in the chilly air, plugging an earpiece into the receiver for her to use.

"Here."

She took it and could hear the crackling sounds of a fire and the playing of a piano.

"The messenger should be here in a few minutes."

"How do you know it's from them?"

"The first thing I did was tap the phones of Ricci and Santorini. Ex-Co called both yesterday morning to arrange for a joint meeting here at Santorini's, a meeting Ricci only agreed to when the caller explained how they had both been duped into their own private war. The courier is going to deliver the evidence of the agency involvement, and return to Amherst with twenty million dollars for his efforts. I expect the dynamic duo will then go to their Camorra comrades and get them to leak the agency info to the international press."

"That would not be good."

"No. That's why we're here." He looked through his spotting scope, one with a similar night-vision capability, and watched the room carefully. The windows and walls were not as efficient as they could be and that allowed them to just make out the 'shadows' of the people inside against the warmth of the fire in the room.

"Now... When Jean makes his move, you'll only have a few seconds to make your shots, so make them count."

"Don't worry. I won't miss." She felt entirely calm in spite of the thrill of action that swept through her. She had faith in her skills, in her weapons, and in her luck. These are the things that all snipers need to survive and be efficient.

"It's almost time..." Michael lit up his watch to check it and the light from the luminescent face fell on Jamie's wicked smile. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You were smiling."

"Was I?"

"Yes."

"I think you're imagining things again." She never looked away from the scope and her simple, unaffected tone of voice made him wonder if he had actually seen it at all. "Car coming. It's Ricci."

"How can you tell?"

"He seems angry. That and it's got a handful of thugs in the back. He's not taking any chances."

Michael swung his scope and could see she was right: The large sport-utility was crowded with Ricci, a driver, and six henchmen, guns at the ready for anything as they pulled up to the gate. There was a minute's worth of discussion with the guards, both of whom had their guns leveled while a third called into the house.

A phone range in their ears and Michael dialed down the volume a bit to listen.

"_Yes? Well, I can't say that I blame him any. Tell them, politely, that I don't mind if they are armed while they are here, but they should at least be courteous enough to not point them at anyone. Let them in the gate and I'll have them met at the door by Vincent."_

Michael keyed his microphone. "Jean, the party is on. Waiting for the final reservation to arrive."

"Okay. Standing by."

The truck drove to the front door and the men all climbed out, guns noticeably less tense as they went to the door while the driver stayed with the car, smoking a cigarette and fumbling nervously with the selector switch of his MP5. The butler let the men in and in a few moments Christobal Ricci was talking face to face with Antonio Santorini, their respective guards presumably staring each other down in the hall.

"_Care for a drink, Christo?"_

"_No, I'd rather not."_ The words were almost spat at the host.

"_Please, I am trying to be a courteous host here. I am willing to entertain you and our mutual messenger on the basis that we can at least act civil towards each other. If what he says is correct, then I have been the larger victim of our conflict. I do not blame you for your reaction; I would have done no less in your position. Again, IF our friend is correct."_

" '_IF...?' I have no reason to believe him. My people have been slaughtered, my closest family killed, and I have only the words of my enemy that the source is reliable."_

"_Please... I know how you are feeling from losing your son. I lost my only daughter in a clash with Christiano several years ago, a clash that you took advantage of, as I recall. I understand your reticence, but you know very well that I would not be taken in by a ruse like this. There is truth in what the man on the phone said and it goes along very well with what my own sources have been finding since he called us. There certainly is a government agency that is operating covertly against us. Christiano is said to have been brought down by those very people."_

"_Christiano was sloppy."_

"_He was very well informed, however, and even saw his empire coming to an end."_

"_Well, whatever."_

Michael felt Jamie tap on his arm and he looked down from his scope to see a sedan pull up to the gate momentarily before being waved through.

"Jean, stand-to. Be ready."

"We're ready."

The occupant was a youngish man, Michael could see in his binoculars, as the man passed through the light given off by the porch light. It was only a minute before he was greeted by Santorini and introduced to Ricci in the same room they had been discussing things in.

"Jamie, it's not the man we want, but I guess he'll do. Stand by, weapons free."

"Ready." She aimed at the window whose glass was a solid color of gray in her scope, with the occasional flash of blue that would flash by, indicating a nearby heat source.

"Jean, two minutes- mark."

"Roger."

"Gentlemen, my name is Enrique, I am representing Excalibur Entertainment Company. My employer has instructed me to give you all of the information at our disposal about the Social Welfare Agency, and specifically, the person responsible for the attacks on Senor Ricci's home and men."

"The Social Welfare Agency?"

"Yes. They are, in truth, a covert government anti-terrorist group. They are the ones who have been playing the both of you against one another in the hopes that one or the other would come out on top, but decidedly weaker. They did not care which, of course."

"You have proof, I assume?"

"Here..." Enrique opened his briefcase and removed several photos and typewritten notes that described the agency's actions against them both. He stood back as the men read through the information quickly and passed the photos back and forth.

"And you say you know the man's name? The one who sent his girl in to kill my men?"

"Yes. His name is-"

There was a burst of machine-gun fire outside, and the explosion of a grenade shook the windows in the quiet night air. The three men looked at one another before the courier went to the window to peer out at the noise. He was only there a fraction of a second before his skull exploded into the room, bathing the two mob bosses in blood. The window was thick and wire-reinforced, and there was a neat bullet hole in the glass, certainly the work of a sniper.

"GET DOWN," Santorini yelled at Ricci as he dove for the floor, crawling quickly towards the door.

"You son of a bitch! You've led them right to us both!" Ricci bolted for the door and nearly made it before a bullet ripped through the outside wall and caught him in the leg, dropping him with a loud thump right next to it.

"What?"

"I'll kill you for your foolishness!" He wrenched open the door and screamed for his men, all of whom had been prepared from the moment the shots had sounded outside. They opened up on Santorini's men at close range, mowing them down and painting the halls red with blood. Ricci's lieutenant stepped inside to help his boss up and motioned for another henchman to take out Santorini.

"NO! THIS IS NOT MY DOING!"

"Stand by..."

"_And you say you know the man's name? The one who sent his girl in to kill my men?"_

"_Yes. His name is-"_

Jean's car screeched to a halt by the front gate and Rico opened up with her belt-fed machine gun, mutilating the surprised guards and destroying the guard shack, pausing only long enough to lob a grenade at the gate.

Michael watched the explosion destroy the gate and thought that it was a shame that they did not have a truck full of cyborgs to send in to clean the place out. The diversion did its work, though, and he saw a halo start to move in the direction of the window. An orange blob appeared on the gray, the thermal view of a face.

"Fi-"

Jamie fired the moment she saw the blob in her scope, not even waiting for Michael to give the order. There was a flare of red and the blob fell against the wall below the window. The sudden entrance of the colder air put the heat sources inside the room into greater relief and she could see one heading for the door of the room, but the third was not visible, likely camouflaged in the heat from the fireplace. She fired a round through the wall and saw the person collapse to the floor, her snap-shot resulting only in a minor wound.

She was just about to fire another round into him when her ears started listening to the microphone in the room again.

"_I'll kill you for your foolishness!"_

The door in the room opened and another form came in, helping the wounded one to his feet. A fourth and fifth persons entered the room and she suddenly had no discernable targets amid the huge blob of color.

"_NO! THIS IS NOT MY DOING!"_

There was a full three seconds of automatic weapons fire, the noise painfully loud over the earpiece, so much so that she pulled it out with a sudden swipe of her hand. She saw Michael cringe at the onslaught, but he held out and then carefully listened after the earpiece went silent. His eyes stared off towards the house, showing no signs of anything but the concentration he was putting into hearing the activities of the room.

"SHIT!" Michael swung his scope down to check if Jean was still at the gate. "Jean, Ricci's going to make a break for it. Santorini is dead. I'm sending Jamie there now, so have Rico stand by and kill anyone that comes out of that house."

"I'm holding at the gate."

"Jamie, take your H&K and hoof it down there as fast as you can. No one but the household staff leaves there alive. Those papers in the study are your primary objective. Get to that room and retrieve them. If the cops find those, the agency will be plastered on the front page of every paper." He got to his feet and handed her the field bag she had carried the rifle in.

"Right!" She loaded a magazine and put two more into the pouches on her vest, then racked the action. She started to take a step but he stopped her with a firm grip on her arm.

"I repeat, Jamie: Not one combatant leaves there alive. The servants are the only no-shoots. Anyone that points any weapon at you is fair game. Anyone _holding_ a weapon is a target." The look in his eyes told her how serious the situation was. She was going to have to kill nearly everyone in the house.

"I know."

"Don't worry, I'll be covering you from here."

"I'm not worried." She smiled softly at him and pulled her Nomex mask down over her face, a precaution against being identified as well as helping to conceal her in the darkness.

"Be careful. It's a long run."

"Half a kilometer? I run four times that before breakfast!" She darted down the hill into the darkness leaving Michael with a warm feeling at her bravery.

He settled back onto the shooting mat behind her rifle and watched her sprint across the terrain. She was fast, incredibly fast, and she only seemed to pick up more speed as she continued down the hill. She leapt a trickle of a creek, her powerful legs bounding her over the ditch as well as any horse, and she didn't even flounder on the landing, hitting the ground and rolling back to her feet, hardly losing her pace as she started weaving her way through the underbrush with her night-vision.

"Jean, Jamie's on the way."

"We have a few of Ricci's men in the hallway, shooting their way out past Santorini's guards."

"I gave Jamie the order to shoot anyone that is not a servant. Ricci has already called his friends in the police and told them to get the information on the agency and give it to the international press."

"I see. I'll send Rico in with Jamie. Any chance of someone escaping through the back?"

"No, I already thought of that. Santorini has a high wall surrounding the back of the estate. The only way out is through the front." He heard the shooting settle down and saw what must be Ricci's men peering out of the front door. "They're at the door. Be ready."

Michael trained the crosshairs on the hot blob by the door. The ammunition in the rifle was a heavy, light-armor piercing load they had worked up in a hurry, using a steel-core bullet that had tested well against bulletproof glass. It had lanced through the thick upstairs window and relatively lightly constructed wall with ease, but firing it into the thin material near the front door would probably cause it to give a relatively harmless through-and-through wound to the people behind it. Changing to the conventional loads would result in a drastic change in the sighting of the rifle, so much so that he was not sure he could aim it safely at that range.

"I can shoot, but I'm not sure about the stopping power with this load. If they get into the car, I can probably disable it and then kill them inside." The metal would cause the bullet to expand enough to make a nasty wound in anything beyond it, a fact that had been incorporated into their design.

"Shoot whatever you feel necessary." Jean was out of the car with gun in hand and crouching behind the gate's stone pillar with Rico on the opposite side.

"I'm almost there!" Jamie's voice was strained with her exertion, the speed and varying terrain taxing her endurance in spite of her training runs. "Crossing the road in ten... Follow me through."

Michael saw her jump the ditch and land in the road, and then start forward through the gate at a fast-but-cautious pace. Rico fell in alongside at a safe distance and Jean brought up the rear, making every effort to keep up while covering their flanks.

"Covering fire!" Michael fired a round into the first man who stepped out of the door. He staggered and stumbled back while holding his stomach, then fell over the man behind him, who was in much the same predicament. A third stepped up after a moment, peering out carefully, only to have a burst from Jamie's rifle rip into him.

Jamie saw the men stumble from Michael's shot and her own rifle came up and sighted on the doorway, the sights hardly moving as she hunched down slightly and moved swiftly forward with practiced footing. A man stepped out far enough to give her a shot and she fired, the two rounds striking him in the head, dropping him like a sack of lead bars. The remaining men retreated further into the house where they could have a better chance to defend against the intruders.

"They're pulling back!"

"Stay cautious, Jamie. They can ambush you easier if you're confined to the hallway."

"I know. Rico! Two-man entry, cover low."

"Yes!" Rico moved up with her CZ at the ready and put a hand on Jamie's shoulder to signal her ready.

"Covering fire!"

Michael loosed another round from the rifle, which ripped through the decorative glass above the door and whizzed down the hall. Jamie moved into the doorway, just catching sight of a figure ducking back behind the corner of a connecting hall, sheltering from the murderous rifle rounds. She moved to the left and Rico slipped in to the right, hugging the wall as she moved, her eyes watching the far end as Jamie paralleled her, her rifle aimed at the corner she had seen the movement in.

The fool actually stuck his head around to look and received a pair of 5.56 NATO rounds through his skull for the effort. She switched to covering the far end while Rico spun around the corner and shot a second man who had started to retreat towards another door.

"I'm heading upstairs."

"Stick with Rico, Jamie. Clear the bottom floor first."

"We don't have the time." She was impatient, Michael noted. It was probably from the adrenaline she built up from the running.

"You make the time. You have to clear the building of all targets."

"Yes, sir." She waved Rico forward and left Jean covering the hall as they checked the nearby rooms quickly. A pair of maids was cowering in the corner of a room and Jamie waved to show them that they were not the targets. She closed the door and moved swiftly back to the main hallway with Rico.

"Bang the intersection to the right." She handed Rico one of the stun grenades and took up a spot to cover her throw. "GO!"

Rico winged the grenade into the hall and it bounced around a corner out of sight, detonating almost immediately after. Jamie lunged and rolled into the t-junction, firing bursts at two men that were staggering from the effects of the grenade, and then continued rolling until she was safely behind a large, heavy, hardwood trophy cabinet. Pistol caliber rounds from a sub-machine gun peppered the cabinet and floor near her just as she was safely hidden, but Rico leaned around the corner and silenced the lone gunman there.

"Thanks."

"Sure thing!" Rico smiled cutely before returning to her scan of the hall, ever vigilant for hostiles.

Jean stepped up to them and keyed his mic. "Michael, Ricci isn't here. Can you see him anywhere?"

"No." Michael rubbed his eyes and tried to get a clear focus on the image in the scope. After a few minutes of staring, all of the blobs seemed to run together. "Hang on..." He stared at a spot in the upstairs room where Santorini was laying dead, catching a bit of movement near the fire.

"Upstairs, in the study. I've got movement, but I don't know who it is."

"I'm on it." Jamie switched her magazines and moved swiftly to the stairs, carefully checking the landing for targets.

"Jamie!"

"I'll be fine."

Michael sighed, knowing now why the handlers should really be by the girls' sides. "Jean, clear the rest of the downstairs. I'm on my way there."

"Alright."

He picked up his rifle and started running towards the mansion.

Jamie crested the stairs and glared in annoyance at the hall in front of her, the lack of any real cover grating on her already keyed up nerves. Multiple doorways made her movement risky, as attack could come from anywhere at any moment. She carefully opened the nearest door and shined her light around the room, flipping on the light switch once she found it. It was an empty bedroom with no signs of tampering, the bed still made perfectly, as if the maid had just been there.

She stepped into the hall and across it to the next door, her ears straining to hear any little noise that would give away someone's position. A pair of shots rang out downstairs and she figured Jean had found another one of the household guards. Ricci was upstairs somewhere, along with at least one loyal follower, and there were bound to be more of Santorini's people around somewhere.

"Stay calm and focus." The words sounded hollow. It was not as if she was afraid, as such, but she was certainly more hesitant. She strained to hear, focusing in on everything around her. It would have been better if she could close her eyes to help concentrate, but that was something she dared not do. Her boots were silent on the rug that ran the length of the hall and her only sounds were the gentle, muted click of the taped swivels on her rifle sling, and her careful, controlled breaths as she padded to the next set of rooms.

She chose the door on the right and pulled out her earpiece, listening to the sounds on the other side of the oak door. There was the sound of a stifled moan from inside, the type only given off by a wounded individual, and she knew she had her room.

There was no point to try the doorknob, as it was likely locked and the sound would only alert the people inside. Jamie took a few steps back then rushed forward, planting her foot just above the doorknob as hard as she could in the same kick that had dropped every door she had ever crashed in.

The door did not budge. It didn't even splinter. The only effect of her kick was a solid thump that rattled a picture loose from the wall nearby and a sharp pain in her ankle, a pain that was very pronounced as she stumbled back from the door and regained her balance.

"What?"

She was stunned at the results of her effort, a delay that was nearly fatal as a hail of weapons fire came through the oak door, sending lead and splinters of wood into the hall. Jamie lunged to her left to get out of the way but caught a bullet through her right arm, wincing in pain as she rolled away from the door and onto her feet, and staggering as her broken ankle refused to take much of her weight.

As much as she wanted to kill whoever had shot her, she was focused on getting to some form of cover before they exited the room to finish her off. She ducked around the corner in the hall and knelt down, dropping her gun and quickly unlacing her boot. She tore a chunk of trim from the wall and jammed it inside the side of her boot, opposite of the knife scabbard she kept on the other side. She yanked the laces as tight as they could go and tied it off, then glanced into the hall where one of Ricci's men was advancing down the hall carefully.

She wrapped several rounds of duct tape from her vest pocket tightly around the top of the trim, her ankle, and the hilt of her knife, completing a makeshift brace. She tossed the tape to the side and grabbed her rifle, her right arm's pain lessened as she became accustomed to it and no longer hindering it's function. She swung around the corner and dumped ten rounds into the man on full-auto before running down the hall towards the room, intending to take the offensive even if it killed her.

The guard was alert and anticipated her attack, catching Jamie as she brought the muzzle of her H&K around the corner of the door, dragging her off balance and into the room with his incredible strength. She fired the rifle as he pulled it, hoping desperately to stitch him with the rounds, but he was experienced in disarming an opponent and levered it away, bending her injured arm as she tried to hold on and landing a solid punch to her face with a massive fist.

Jamie actually saw stars as her nose was broken by the impact, the strength momentarily leaving her body and crashing her to the floor just inside the door. There was a moment's pause as she realized that she had just been struck, but her mind regained control and she leapt to her feet, staggering again from the pain of her ankle. Her focus was quickly changed from that as she got her first good look at the hulking brute that had hit her.

The man was enormous! He had to be at least six foot five and three hundred pounds. It was a man-shaped bundle of muscle and fat the likes of which she had never seen, his hammy hands the size of salad plates, his legs like tree-trunks, and a gut that seemed like a massive pile of snow alongside the road.

"Oh, shit..." She whispered it to herself mainly, but the comment seemed to bring a perverse pleasure to the man who smiled as he thumped one fist into the other hand, anticipating enjoyment of a beating.

"You're in a lot of trouble now, missy."

"Oh, shit..." She took a step back in fear and started trying to figure out a way to run away, quickly glancing back at the edge of the door and noticing in a detached way that the entire oak frame and door were reinforced with laminated steel. When she looked forward again, the man was upon her, slamming her chest with a crushing punch that knocked her backwards, but she grabbed the doorframe and held herself upright, coughing from the hit and glaring at him as her brain started to ignore the pain receptors in her body in anticipation of things to come. This was going to be a tough fight.

"How can... a fat man... move so fast..."

The man smiled and laughed as he held back for a moment, letting his new toy get her breath.

"Haven't you ever seen a kung-fu movie, little girl?"

"Plenty..." She smiled and wiped the blood from her nose with her thumb in the Bruce Lee signature move, a gesture the hulk seemed to appreciate. "Kung-fu movie rule number two: The fat man is faster than he looks."

"And more dangerous." He shifted back and forth on his feet nervously a bit, a motion Jamie found of little comfort as it only served to demonstrate that the man was certainly lighter on his feet than one would expect.

"That's not in the rules! Usually the fat man is the comic relief."

"But that is the movies, and this is reality... And your reality is going to be a lot more deadly than any movie. Sorry." He stepped towards her and she flinched instinctively at the overwhelming presence he was bearing down on her with. His tone of voice told her that he was deadly serious and entirely comfortable with the fact that he was going to beat her to a pulp. The man was a complete nut-job. Jamie could not run away, and it would be difficult at best to match him in strength, at least with her injuries. She had started to wonder if she was even a match for him at her full ability.

There was really nothing to do but welcome his attack and make it a fight to the death. She took up a defensive stance and readied herself, then motioned him on. "Okay, Fatso. Bring it anyway you like."

"This will be fun!"

He charged her at his full speed, shoulder down, and his full weight behind it. Jamie stepped to the side and deflected his charge with her right arm, dropping to her left knee and kicking her broken ankle between his legs, tripping the beast and sending him crashing into the wall opposite of the doorway he had just narrowly squeezed through. His head broke through the plaster and the paintings on the wall crashed to the floor as the entire house shook from the hit.

Jamie spun and got to her feet, backing away to safety as he pulled his head from the wall and shook it to clear it, and then got to his feet again. It was no longer a man in her mind, but a snarling, rampaging beast that would destroy her and everything else in its path.

"That was good, missy, but you're stumbling quite a bit, and I doubt you can outmatch me in pure strength. It's too bad we didn't meet in the street, 'cause you're the kind of woman I like to pound into submission."

"If we'd met in the street, I'd have already shot you for looking at me funny." She could see that this was not going well, but she had to play for time for the others to come and help. There was a bit of blood running down his head from a gash in it, the bits of plaster still in the wound.

"Well then. I guess it's lucky for me that you came here, eh?"

He lunged and she moved to deflect again but he was ready for it and caught her arm, swinging her around and slamming her against the wall with enough force to send cracks through the plaster in every direction. He reared back and planted a foot in her chest as she had started to come off of the wall, knocking her back into it and dazing her as her head made it's own indentation.

Jamie felt something crack in her chest and her vision clouded with black splotches when her head hit, her strength leaving her again and not even bother to leave a note as to when it had planned on returning. She was helpless as she sagged to the floor, stunned and too weak to even try to block the punch that came next, a hit that connected with enough force to send her flying several feet along the wall and sprawling her on the floor, her consciousness the only thing she could still count as working.

"Ugh," was about as much as she could manage to work up from her throat as she gathered a bit of strength from somewhere in her soul and tried pathetically to crawl away.

"What? No more chitchat? No pithy remarks? I thought you were having as much fun as I was."

He grabbed her by the neck and pressed her against the wall, lifting her head several inches above his own and choking the life from her. His eyes were positively evil as they gazed at her face, the cruel smile on his lips bringing back a similar feeling of disgust in Jamie that she remembered from that terrible, endless night in Paris.

"You're going to pay for wasting my time, little girl. I wanted a challenge in this fight, but you have been sorely lacking. I'm going to watch you suffocate right before my eyes, so that the last thing you see is my face."

Maybe it was the look in his eyes or feeling of choking to death, but something transformed her fear into the strongest desire to live that she had ever felt. Her arms felt lighter as the strength returned to them and she brought her hands up to his face and pressed her thumbs into his eyes hard, feeling them burst under the pressure before he could react.

The hulk stumbled back slightly and she used that space to plant her left foot against the wall and shove against him, forcing him off balance and then crashing to the floor like a felled tree, the impact shaking the floor. Jamie rode him down and rolled free when he hit, tumbling to the base of the wall on the other side of the hall. The hulk was clutching his bleeding eye-sockets and rolling on the floor, trying to get up despite the fact that he could no longer see anything.

The woman in Jamie refused to have pity on him as she lay there struggling for her breath, realizing that this man must have taken women in the most brutal of fashion, pounding them into submission as he had stated, and then using them until he no longer wanted them.

"Fucker."

Her hand went to her thigh-holster and popped the thumb-break open, drawing her Beretta and pointing it at the man, and in spite of her physical condition and shattered nerves, the sights were steady on her target, as if the hand of God were aiming it where He wanted the bullets to go. The three rounds she fired flew true and the hulk collapsed to the floor, ending the discussion once and for all, and she lay there slowly catching her breath and letting the physiological side effects fade away, suddenly feeling amazingly calm after such a dangerous moment in her life. The man was dead and she was alive. For some reason she felt almost philosophical.

"That's what we have to do... We have to kill them all."

The words were spoken without thought... without pity. It was her promise to herself and the woman she used to be, and it resonated inside her in a way that even Michael's words of praise could not.

A part of her realized that she had started to enjoy the killing, at least the killing of the kind of scum that liked to abuse women. It was no longer an alien feeling to her, and certainly not as detestable as it used to be, and maybe it was the way it had to be in the world. Bad people kill good people, and not-so-bad people kill the bad people. It was simply the way the world worked, and it was better to be the not-so-bad people, because being a good person just got you raped and killed, and you got to kill lots of bad people, so the job-satisfaction level was pretty high.

"That's a pretty messed up way of thinking, Jamie, but it'll do for now." She laughed loudly and then started crawling down the hall towards the study but had only made it a few feet before an ignored fact popped back into the front of her brain, a small tidbit of information that she had forgot in the heat of battle. She turned and looked behind her at the doorway that had so utterly defeated her with its steel reinforcements.

The image of the interior flashed into her head and she realized that it had been a small safe-room or security closet, with screens and wires everywhere. There had also been someone in there, someone other than the big guy.

"Ricci."

"Good guess." He was standing in the doorway, aiming a large-bore revolver, maybe a Smith&Wesson 500Magnum, she guessed base on the compensator on the front. He was only ten feet away and she knew her internal armor was nowhere near enough to stop that large a bullet with that kind of velocity. His hand was shaking a bit as he leaned against the doorway for support off of his bad leg.

"You're from that agency, aren't you? A little girl trained as an assassin."

Jamie was in no real position to answer either way. Her broken ankle was throbbing and her chest felt like a large tree had fallen on it a few times, her breathing sounding labored and wheezing.

"You came here to kill me, but you only got my leg. I'm still alive and I'm getting out of here that way. You... You are going to die here."

"I've heard that before... It hasn't happened yet." She glared at him, turning her fury at her immobility towards him.

"Now it is..." He thumbed the hammer back but had to tip the gun up in his grip to do it, loosening it for a moment...

"It's pretty quiet up there... What the hell is going on?" Michael aimed his rifle up the stairs as Jean finished giving Rico her orders to secure the bottom of the stairs until they returned.

"It's been several minutes since that burst of rifle fire. Maybe she's clearing the rooms."

"I'm going up. Keep things in hand down here." He started up the steps two at a time.

"This went a little beyond our plan, Christiansen." Michael thought he could hear annoyance in Jean's voice.

"I know, I know. The police are on their way, so we need to hurry here."

The hall was quiet as he stepped into it, and the only occupants were a few of Santorini's men who had been mowed down by Ricci's goons when things went to hell on them. They were outside an open door, a door that Michael knew was the study and approached slowly, carefully clearing it until he was sure that the only things in the room were Santorini's and Enrique's bloodied corpses by the fire and window. The papers he was worried about were nowhere to be found, and that left Ricci as having them, and he had to find them fast.

Michael moved quickly into the hall and jogged to the intersection with the other hall, the one that met up with the other set of stairs from the ground floor. There was a roll of duct tape on the floor; folded almost flat as he himself usually did to stick in his vest. He picked it up and tucked it into an empty pouch and turned his attention back to the corner, leaning out carefully and peered down the length, catching sight of Jamie lying next to one very large dead man. She was looking at someone standing just inside the nearby doorway, but then he saw the gun barrel aiming at her from it. He had to move now while he still had a partner.

He hardly thought about his actions as he brought the rifle up and started taking quick, silent steps towards Jamie, his back hunched over to center his mass behind the rifle and make a smaller target. The red-dot sight was steady on the hand that held the gun that was aimed at her and Michael's movement was fluid, almost floating, all of his assault training coming to fruition in this one moment, the moment that really mattered.

"I've heard that before... It hasn't happened yet."

"Now it is..."

The gun lifted for a moment and Michael seized his chance, firing a single shot from the H&K G36 into the gun-hand. The gun fell from the crippled grip and the owner screamed in pain, a scream that was quickly silenced when Michael stepped into the middle of the hall and planted a shot through Christobal Ricci's head, dropping him where he had stood.

"You're late." Jamie tried to pick herself up from the floor but was only able to rise to a seated position against the smashed wall by pulling on the doorframe. She could feel the effects of the head injury fading slowly and figured she could move if she rested a few more minutes.

"Sorry, it's a long run." He knelt next to her and checked the hole in her arm and the bloody spot on the back of her head. "Are you okay?"

She sighed, laughing softly at the absurdity of the question and wondering just what it would take for him to consider her to be in obviously bad shape. She smiled at him to show that she was not seriously injured. "I'll be okay, I think, though I'm going back to the hospital.

"Yeah..." Michael found a roll of gauze in his vest and quickly wrapped a pair of patches tightly against her gunshot wound before checking her eyes for a concussion. "Bianchi said he's going to start charging us rent this time."

"You know I don't get paid a salary." The flashlight hurt her eyes when Michael flashed them and then she had to blink away the blue spots from the intense light.

"Well, you're going to have to work for your room and board if you keep this up." He checked her leg that she had taped up and decided to leave it for the time being, as it was probably the best they had until medics arrived.

"Christiansen, report." Jean's voice crackled over the radio in his ear.

"I'm okay, but Jamie is injured. She's got a broken leg and some holes in her."

"Status of the documents?"

Michael had forgotten that. "I'm still working on that, so give me a minute. Ricci is dead, as well as his man that he had inside Santorini's operation."

He stepped over Ricci's corpse and searched it quickly, finding the papers inside his coat. "I have the papers, Jean, but we're going to need to scrub the house for intelligence."

"I've considered that. Ferro and her team are on their way in the helicopter, and should be here in a half-hour. We only need to tell the police that this is a Public Security operation and that they have no authority to enter the grounds."

"Okay. Let me get Jamie moving again and we'll meet you in the front." When he looked over at her, she was flexing her injured arm to test the hindrance the bullet had caused on its way through. "Can you walk?"

"Maybe. The pain has dulled and my leg isn't throbbing anymore."

"Lets give it a try."

Michael went to her and helped her onto her good leg, and then supported her as she took careful steps onto her bad one. She seemed to be able to put some weight on it, but the resurgence of pain from the injury was obvious on her face.

"Okay, lets just go down the steps carefully and I'll support you, okay?"

"Alright."

The chopper was landing a bit early by the time they made it to the front door, the rotor kicking up dust and small stones as it touched down in the widest part of the drive, barely clearing the cars and light posts lining it. Ferro climbed out and was quickly followed by Alfonso, Georgio, and finally Priscilla, who was looking tired at having been roused from bed at so late an hour for the trip.

Ferro met Jean by one of the cars to discuss the situation as the others unloaded their gear from the copter, then started towards the house, tossing Michael the evil eye as she approached.

"You never do anything small, do you, Christiansen?" She glanced over Jamie who was still supporting herself with an arm around Michael's shoulders.

"You know me... I start things off small and then it just kind of gets out of hand.

"No kidding. Well, take the helicopter back to base and get Jamie patched up."

"Our gear is on that hill over there."

"I'll send Georgio to get it. Just go home and stay put for a day or so until I clear up this paperwork." She walked into the mansion without even bothering to hear his response, her mind ticking away at the cover story for two very dead mafia dons and numerous underlings getting blown away at a meeting that started out under a truce.

As Michael waited for the medics to settle Jamie into a stretcher, he watched the nearly headless corpse of Enrique get rolled past to a waiting truck and shoved unceremoniously in for it's trip to the crime lab. Michael would be waiting impatiently for any and all information that both the body and his car would provide and with any luck, there would be some hint as to where Amherst and the rest of his people were.

"Michael?" Jamie's soft voice broke in on his thoughts as usual.

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad?"

When he looked at her he found a worried look on her face, a fear that somehow the night's turn of events had pushed them off of the path they needed to be on.

"No, Jamie. I'm not feeling anything right now."

He was numb inside, and even the picture through his sights of Ricci's brains being splattered against the wall elicited no real feeling either good or bad. Maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe he was already at that point that Tanya had spoken of, when humanity can no longer find home in such a black heart and mind. It was something to think about.

"I'm not feeling a damn thing."

Chapter 27

"The phone calls were made from a payphone in Milan and there is no real way to trace them further than that, I'm afraid." Marco set a file on Michael's desk, a file containing everything he had been able to track down. "The voice analysis from both the phone taps and your mansion bugs shows the caller was this Enrique guy, real name Juan Castillo, at least according to his dental records. He was a paratrooper in the Spanish army, released last year from a five-year sentence for gross negligence involving a firearm. He was cleaning his rifle and it discharged, giving a fellow soldier a prosthetic leg and medical discharge. His file from before that shows discipline issues consistent with borderline sociopathic tendencies."

"And he ended up as a runner for Amherst. Any idea where this guy was living?" Several long slurps of coffee were helping Michael to wake up and focus on the information. He would not admit it to anyone but the little sleep he was getting was broken up by nightmares and bouts of depression-induced insomnia, and the past couple of days since the actions against Santorini and Ricci were only a long, unending blur for him.

"Last known whereabouts was Beauvais, France."

"Just a hop, skip, and jump up the A16 from Paris..." It was figuring into Michael's pattern of Excalibur Entertainment Company. They set up a 'legitimate' criminal enterprise in cities where the criminals have a cordial relationship with the authorities, using that to fund their hobby of rape and murder. Paris, Milan, and Amsterdam for certain... and there were signs that the network went so far as Warsaw, Budapest, and Valencia. They rotated between these places for their films, likely having a complete set of gear in every location.

"Have you been there before?" Marco had noticed Michael's eyes light up at the mention of the city in France.

"A couple of times, but it's nothing special. Anything else?"

"Not really. The guy has been remarkably low-key in everything. The car rental agency only described him as an average guy, and it's the same story with the airport people who actually noticed him, as few as there are. I could have been describing you for all it mattered."

"I see. Well, Marco, I am certainly appreciative of your effort. You've given me a little I can work on, and that's better than having nothing at all."

Marco nodded in his usual way of showing his appreciation. No one had seen him smile since Angelica's death and Michael could certainly appreciate the feeling of not wanting to.

"By the way, I have to run into town this afternoon, did you want to go? Jamie and I have to get some things for my apartment and I have to give the new maid a key."

"Maid?"

"Yeah, just once a week, you know. I haven't really been in the mood to clean lately and the liquor bottles are starting to pile up." He tried to laugh off the comment as the joke that it was, but it just fell flat. Surprisingly, he had not felt like turning to alcohol to sooth his pain this time, instead devoting his free time to tracking down the bastards that killed Tanya.

"I think I'll pass, but thanks for the invite all the same."

"No problem."

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Jamie?"

"I'm fine, really. Doctor Ziliani said that my arm just needed some minor muscle repair work and some work on my ribs to patch the cracks from where that guy hit me. I really got lucky on my nose and they didn't have to chop it off and replace it." She was in high spirits in spite of the replacement leg she had to endure.

"He told me that you have been kicking in too many doors."

"It was that laminated-steel reinforcement! How was I supposed to know it was there?"

"Well, I got a look at the pictures of it. There was a sizable dent where your kick bent it. I looked up the specs from the manufacturer and you're lucky you only cracked your ankle since that particular piece was designed to withstand repeated impacts from the heaviest SWAT battering-rams out there."

"Hm."

They were walking down the sidewalk towards his apartment with their arms loaded with boxes of things, a new coffee maker among them and nestled safely in Jamie's arms. The crowds were thick at the lunch hour and his apartment's proximity to several good restaurants only added to it, so they had to weave their way through carefully. Michael thought he could see a bit of a limp in Jamie's right leg, though she had been exercising it in her usual way to get used to it. The idea of her being a cyborg still gave him pause at times, though he always ended up shrugging it off as something he really could not do anything about.

"So, what do you want for your birthday, Michael?"

"Eh?"

"Your birthday is next week, right? What would you like me to get you?" She started walking backwards in front of him, still weaving left and right to dodge people. He wondered how she could be doing it so well at it but quickly figured out that she was catching sight of them in the mirrored edges of her sunglasses.

"How did you find out when my birthday was?" He quickly closed the gap between them and spun her to face forwards, wrapping his arm around her protectively.

"I peeked at your driver's license. That picture really isn't doing you any justice, you know."

"Well, not all of us can be beautiful like you, Jamie. People like me are happy to be average, and it helps with the anonymity."

"I think you're handsome, even if you're getting on up there in the years." Her smile could thaw the glacier that his heart had become, and while he did not really feel ready to move on entirely just yet, the knowledge that he had someone he could talk to was a help to his heart.

"You just keep digging, little girl, and see where the age comments get you." He freed up a hand and pulled her knitted hat off, stretching his arm up out of her reach as she playfully feigned an inability to reach it.

"C'mon, give it back already, my ears are cold."

"Not until you learn to respect your elders and apologize."

"Okay, I'm sorry." She pulled her hat on quickly when he released it to her and then stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm sorry you're getting old and gray and crotchety."

"Hey! I am not crotchety."

"Yes you are."

"Damn kids."

"See?"

The maid from the service was waiting in front of the apartment, just as they had promised, and Michael realized that he was almost five minutes late. He gave the woman an apologetic look as he introduced himself.

"Sorry we're late. I'm Michael Christiansen, and this is my sister Jamie." The maid did not look enthused at all and Michael had the feeling that the woman was never really happy.

"Patricia Dent, 'Maids for Service'. It's a pleasure, Mister Christiansen." Her Italian had a British accent, something that Michael was surprised that his mind had picked out so easily and made him realize that he was actually integrating into Italian culture.

"Dent? What part of England are you from?" He asked this in his normal American English and received a slightly confused look from her

"From London itself, sir. You are American? Your Italian was flawless."

"Thank you, I've been working on it for some time now." He shifted the packages in his hands and motioned her to the doorway of the building. "Please, lets go in and get out of the cold. I'm not a big fan of it, despite growing up in Pennsylvania where the lake-effect dumped yards of the stuff...err meters...every time it fell."

"Let me help you with some of those, sir." In spite of her thin figure, she was incredibly strong, taking almost all of Michael's bags in one go without any real difficulty.

"Thank you." He and Jamie followed her in and watched her take the stairs with hardly any notice of the weight she was carrying. She was one of those women who had been doing the hard work so long that none of it really seemed all that hard anymore.

They had made it to the second floor before Michael realized that his surveillance gear was still in the car, a place where he simply could not leave the expensive equipment in a city. He pulled the spare key from his pocket.

"Mrs. Dent, I have to get some things from the car real quick. Go ahead on up and let yourself in. It's apartment Three-A, the one facing the street."

"Yes, Mr. Christiansen." She took the key and continued her journey while Michael and Jamie hurried back down the stairs and out to his Jaguar that was parked on the street.

He had no sooner put the key in the trunk-lock than an explosion sounded above them, a massive fireball erupting from his apartment's living-room windows and raining glass down upon the screaming crowds. Jamie grabbed him and threw him to the ground; covering his body with her own against any threat the shards might pose.

For a moment he relived the moments of the Ministry bombing. The screams of terror were the same in both, and lives were being extinguished in a few scant seconds as the flames consumed everything they touched. Jamie's breath on his neck was the only thing that made the present different enough to bring him back from the flashback.

"Are you okay, Michael?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"I'm okay, I think."

The moment of shock had passed by in a blink and they both stood to look at the flames pouring out of the windows, licking furiously at the fourth-floor in an effort to burn it as well. The sirens were already screaming in the distance and people were starting to pick themselves up. A policeman started helping people exit the building as the smoke started filling the halls.

Michael actually fell into the thought that it had been an accident, but his instincts quickly corrected him and said otherwise. Someone had just tried to kill him, and were it not for the unwary blundering of a maid, they might have succeeded.

"Wrong place at the right time." His eyes scanned the street on both sides for a suspicious person or car but everything looked normal, if such chaos could be considered normal. A few plain vehicles moved out of the way of a police car coming on scene but none looked out of the ordinary. He looked at Jamie and found her eyes glues to the rooftops, looking for a possible watcher. In a job like this, you confirm the target is dead so you know whether there needs to be a follow-up mission.

"See anything?"

"No, sir. No snipers as near as I can tell. It doesn't discount the possibility of a close-in attack, however."

He hadn't thought of that, but it certainly made sense. Should your target miraculously escape the blast, you blow them away with a sniper. There were so many buildings, however, that it would not be difficult to conceal one's self in an apartment and crack the window just enough.

"Lets move inside somewhere."

"Where?"

"Anywhere, I don't care." The sharp, angry tone he spoke with made Jamie look away as if she had been scolded, but her eyes quickly went back to scanning the crowd as Michael led her by the hand to a nearby shop whose owner he had become familiar with. There they drank coffee and waited almost twenty minutes before his phone rang.

"Christiansen."

"Michael, thank God you're alive. Is Jamie with you?" Priscilla was sounding more than a bit concerned, though the relief in her voice told him she would be okay.

"Yeah, we're both fine. We're camped out at the coffee shop across the street, watching them put the blaze out."

"What happened?"

"Someone planted a fire bomb in my apartment this morning. Unfortunately, my maid set it off when she went inside ahead of us. We were away from the car for some time as well, so there is no way I'm going near it without it being checked first."

"Okay. We have two teams on their way, so stay put until they get there. You can ride back here with Olga."

"Alright, Priscilla. Thanks."

Jamie was staring at him as he closed the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. He wasn't sure exactly what she was thinking, but it was starting to be a bit creepy.

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking, Michael."

"What's that?" His coffee had suddenly gone cold with the emotionless way she had said it.

"They're not going to stop, at least not until we kill them. The agency compound is safe, but we have to leave the grounds sometime because only we can find them. Then it becomes a game to see who brings their sights on-target first." She finally looked away as she lifted her mug with both hands, the way she held things when she was really shaken up.

Her eyes told the tale of just how angry she was at this attempt on their lives and he had to figure that it was the cowardly way they went about it. Jamie was someone who, at least in this incarnation, felt that a justified kill was one you committed with your own hands. Blowing someone up from a distance was, to her, the tactics of a weakling.

He sipped his cold coffee before responding. "You're getting pretty good at that. Not many have ever been able to read me like that. The real test is in what we are going to do next."

Jamie thought about the next step, endeavoring to think like Michael had been trying to teach her; to get inside the decision-making process of their enemy and then lead them to where they needed to be to perish.

"They are hunting us, and they probably know that they missed this time. They will expect us to go to the agency, which would provide a perfect opportunity to get us, but they don't have the assets in place..."

"Keep going." He could see that she was getting it now.

"We can't stay at the agency, not because it's not safe, but because it hinders us. So...the question becomes whether they believe we will hide behind our allies or venture on our own."

"What is the smart thing?"

"Hide and let them come to us. We can be drawn out at their discretion; it's only a matter of time. So if we hole up they will have to make a move that we will respond to. What that might be is of little relevance. Our response will be routed into a place of their choosing where they will slaughter us."

"So what do we do?"

"We show them what we want them to see. In the meantime, we are going someplace they won't expect. When the time comes, we blind-side them."

"You really are the smartest girl at the agency." He was able to smile at her, his pride overshadowing the morning's events.

"I'm not a girl, I'm a woman, thank you very much." She finished her coffee and settled back, her hand only an inch from her gun though her body language looked relaxed to any observer that might notice.

"Smartest woman, sorry." He spotted Jean and Jose with their girls among the crowd that had gathered around the fire truck as it continued to cool the charred remains of his apartment and motioned to Jamie that they should go, paying a generous tip on the table as they left.

A flash of their public security credentials earned them an escorted walk up to Michael's apartment to look around, the two younger girls standing guard just inside the ground floor doorway as the three men and Jamie continued on up the steps.

The hall was covered in soot from the smoke, and his apartment door was embedded in the opposing wall of the hallway, but to Michael it looked as if the building had suffered little real damage. There were crime-scene people examining the remains of Mrs. Dent, who was lying just inside the hallway from his living room.

His trained eyes could see that the explosion had originated in the cabinet that had stood in the hall, likely triggered on a delayed-action fuse when the apartment door had opened, and set to catch him either right in front of the cabinet, or very near it. It was clever, but not really all that original.

"I've done that one before... The problem is timing it right. It's a hell of a lot easier to just rig the stove or television."

The others stared at him, wondering where the comment had come from since no one had said a word to him. When he noticed the way that they looked at him he just shrugged. "Sorry, I guess I was thinking aloud to myself."

"Any ideas what they used?" Jean was examining the bedroom, which had taken only limited fire damage and where most of the things inside were blackened from soot, but not incinerated.

"I can't even begin to guess. It doesn't look like Semtex, if that's what you're asking. Maybe they used a bit as an igniter, but it probably wasn't the bulk of it. Half of the room would be missing if it were."

"Well, the police have an adequate lab for this kind of work. We should go."

"Hang on, Jean. I want to get a couple of things first." Michael went into the bedroom, brushing aside an officer that was overseeing the site security.

"This is a crime scene, sir."

"It's my home, and I probably won't be returning to it. I have only a couple of valuables, and I'm going to take them with me."

The officer grabbed Michael's arm, dragging him back towards the door, but he quickly found himself planted against the wall face-first. Jamie had moved faster than Jean could call her off, going from an impartial observer to vicious guard-dog in the blink of an eye, her motions swift and quickly overwhelming the unwary officer with her strength. She had a scowl on her face as she jerked the officer's arm behind his back and shoved him roughly against the wall, her anger on full display and not caring that it was.

"Jamie!" Jean tried to call her off, but her eyes were locked on Michael to wait for his orders. She could feel every muscle in her body aching for the opportunity to release the power within her, her nerves tensed to go to war with anyone or anything that she deemed a threat.

Michael could see it in her eyes...That dark, powerful Jamie that could do many things, except restrain herself once loosed. It had to be the stress on her from her shaken nerves from the blast and the constant watch she had been keeping for threats to him. She was ready to tear the man apart if he told her so, and she would without question, even if she might regret it later.

"Stand down, Jamie. He's just doing his job."

"Yes, sir." She carelessly tossed the man aside and stepped into the doorway to protect Michael against anyone who would enter, choosing to ignore the looks Jean and Jose directed at her. The officer got to his feet and accepted the tissue Jean handed him for his bloodied nose.

"It'll only be a minute, officer."

Michael flipped over his bed, ignoring the crash of it against the dresser, and pulled the blank DVD case from under it. This he tossed inside a duffle bag along with his spare belt-pack of burglar's tools and electronic bugs, his spare pistol and ammunition, and a zip-locked bag of papers. The computer was freed in a couple of deft pulls of the wires and he handed it to Jamie before taking the last item, a framed photo of Tanya and himself from years before; a picture he'd been keeping safe for almost five years. He glanced quickly around the room for anything else he thought he might regret leaving behind, but there really was not anything. The clothes were worthless from the smoke damage and everything else was expendable or something he really hadn't become attached to.

He reentered the living room and set the vase from the coffee table back upright, gently putting the scorched rose inside it, taking a moment to close his eyes and reflect on how much he missed her, especially at a moment when her help would be more of comfort than utility. When his eyes opened he was aware of everyone watching him, his actions seeming strange, perhaps, but hardly something to speak up about. He brushed off the looks and stood again, motioning for Jamie to follow.

"Lets get out of here, Jamie. We have work to do."

"Yes sir."

Lorenzo was waiting in his office for Michael when Jean escorted him in and closed the door, leaving Michael and his chief alone, a change in routine that Michael found chilling at the least. The older man, a man who had seen and done many things and had a lot of blood on his hands indirectly from his decisions, was studying him, and somewhere in the past year Michael had learned to be intimidated by him.

"I'm glad to see you are okay, Christiansen. When the report came down on the blast and it's location, we all thought you might have been killed."

If Michael had not already known who was responsible for it, he would have thought that Lorenzo had signed the order out on him personally, so cold was the statement. He was starting to see dangers everywhere, especially in the places where a threat actually could exist, and it was a reminder that the fine line between caution and paranoia was but a hair's breadth.

"Half of everything is luck, sir. The rest is Fate, and Fate is on my side right now because she hates the same people we do."

"An interesting viewpoint to say the least." He clasped his hands together and leaned his chin on them, seeming to relax a little. "We do have an issue, though, in that you are being hunted again and they are acting as terrorists in our country. That being the case, I am diverting a pair of teams from the Giacomo search to find these people and bring them to justice."

"Justice..." Michael spat the word. It meant nothing now. "Justice is a cushy concept that requires courts, juries, and restraint to execute properly. These people are out to kill others, be they little girls, teenagers, or myself. The hand of Justice is not something they consider a threat. The only way to deal with them is to crush them as the waste they are, and that requires tossing out any concept of justice we might have."

"That's a pretty harsh comment, coming from you."

"I'm a realist. They want me dead and won't stop until I am, and I'm not going to give them the pleasure. If they want me, they'll have to work for it." He had already started to devise a plan and he needed only to be left alone with Jamie at his side to do it.

"Well, you are going to stay in the compound where they cannot get to you easily. When they come for you, we'll be ready."

"Respectfully, that just won't work. They are smart enough to know that they can't assault the force we have available. I have to go out at some point, and they will strike when they want."

"You have an alternate suggestion?"

"I take Jamie and just disappear. I can do it and it will take them time to figure it out. By then, I'll be so far underground they won't find me until I move on them."

Lorenzo gave the idea a couple of seconds of thought before shooting it down. "That is unacceptable. Your cyborg is a multi-million dollar piece of Italian government property. Outside of our influence she is susceptible to any number of problems: her reliance on the medicine, a possible separation from you, and even injury. If she is injured, she will end up in a foreign hospital and then our secrets are out for all to see."

"Sir, you said you are only willing to devote two teams to finding them, but I know two teams is simply not enough. They are battle-hardened, sociopathic killers, and nothing short of a similarly out-of-control mindset is going to stop them. Our agency has a structure that it follows and they know it well enough to sell it to two groups that could make effective use of it."

"And you think that by operating away from our influence, you can keep them off balance?" Lorenzo was a patient man, a man of foresight who could plan his way out of many things, and as such he could see what Michael's plan would have to be. Michael was asking to have himself and his killer cyborg turned loose in the world to run amok, to do as they wished and to kill whom they pleased. So far their actions were easily covered up by his control over the press, but that was the only reason he allowed them to go this far.

"Permission denied, Mister Christiansen. What you are asking represents a high probability of our exposure to the world. There is simply no way to keep such a hunt under wraps outside of our borders. You will remain on the grounds until they are found or confirmed to have moved on."

"Sir, I-"

"I've given my decision. You're dismissed, Christiansen." Lorenzo's face hinted that it was indeed the end of the discussion, regardless of whether Michael felt like continuing on. It was the same face that told him he would be rotting in a cell or buried if he pursued the matter further.

"Yes, sir. I'll give the teams what help I can from here."

"Good day."

"This is boring. I want to do something fun."

Michael couldn't say that he was surprised at Jamie's restlessness. He was feeling like a caged animal himself, something he certainly could not take a liking to. He set down his newspaper and watched her eat her breakfast for a few moments before asking the obvious.

"Like what?"

"I don't know..." The week and a half that they had been restricted to the compound was visible in the way she poked her oatmeal with the spoon and let some dribble off of it when she finally did lift it. "I'm just sick of being in this place. It's like being in the hospital, only without the hope of eventually getting out."

"All good things come to those who wait, Jamie."

"We've been waiting but nothing has happened." She looked out on the courtyard as if it were the symbol of the freedom she longed for, but the look faded as she thought about the fact that she could go there, and no, it was not freedom at all.

"It will, trust me."

As if to punctuate his statement, the personal address came alive with a call for medical responders to report to the helipad, a call that was drowned out by the roar of the agency helicopter as it made its circuit to read the wind before landing. Curiosity and Michael's prediction got the best of them and they rushed out to the front yard to see what was going on.

The helo was touching down in front of the hospital where the medics were assembled, but from their position they could not see who it was that was put on the gurney, a gurney that was rushed into the building as fast as the teams could move it. A second team rolled out at a significantly slower pace, stopping by the helicopter and collecting a figure that made every effort to shrug off assistance, hopping the two steps and hoisting his self onto the gurney.

"Can you see who it is, Jamie?"

"No, just their jacket. It looks like a heavy leather one, real bulky." She squinted to see across the distance, wishing she had her riflescope.

"Black?"

"Yeah."

There was only one person at the agency that wore such a jacket. Maybe Jamie did not know who it was because she had not paid enough attention, but Michael certainly did. He put his hand on her arm, a sign of brotherly affection and caring that made her look at him, wondering what he was doing.

"It's Mario, Jamie."

If Mario was the one that was relatively uninjured, then the other person the medics took inside had to be Maria, the friend that had been there for her every time she herself had been injured.

Michael's firm grip on her arm was the only thing that stopped her as she attempted to run for the hospital, a restraint that earned him an angry glare as she tried to figure him out.

"Let me go, Michael. I want to be there for her."

"I know, but there really isn't anything you can do at this moment besides watch on helplessly."

"I don't care!" She jerked her arm away from his grasp and took a few steps backwards to get some distance between them, a distance that seemed to reflect their respective positions on the matter. "It's the principle of it, Michael. You of all people should understand that being there for someone is more important than being able to help them. You were there for me in that warehouse at the moment when I wanted to give up, and it's only because of you, someone who told me I could go on, that I kept breathing. If there is anything I have learned since then, it's that you have to have a reason to keep living; to keep trying in the face of adversity... in the face of death."

The sun peeked out from behind a cloud and illuminated her in it's light, a single beacon of color and light in a cold, gray world, and it was the moment when Michael's fear of Jamie's past ceased to be a concern. Janet Wells was alive within her, her memories and spirit mingling with the part of her that he had helped to create. She remembered it all and had not faltered in her step alongside him, and now she was once again reaching out to someone, the same as she had in her previous life.

"You can't stop me Michael. You might control me in my everyday actions, but you can't stop me from pursuing my own nature. I have to be there for Maria, and that's all there is to it."

She turned and ran for the hospital at her top speed. He watched her go with a mixed feeling of pride and pain at her developing self-reliance, and a confliction inside him on whether self-determination really was a proper course that he had charted for her. It wasn't that he cared a whit whether the agency supported the idea or not, but his own reluctance to slip her reins and let her decide for herself. He had previously thought it the best thing for her, given her independent nature, but now he had his doubts, mainly because he didn't want to see her hurt by her mistakes.

"You're spacing out, Michael."

He spun around at the voice that had startled him, finding Ferro with her morning coffee in hand and looking past him at the still running Jamie.

"Yeah... I was just feeling like my little girl is all grown up."

She apparently did not feel the observation worthy of comment; just a simple look of concern for him. It was a sign that she had accepted his personality finally. He was going to do things the way he wanted despite what others told him, and that was that.

"Well, Lorenzo wants you to go talk to Mario as soon as the doctors get him settled. This problem with your enemies is getting out of hand and he wants it cleaned up quickly."

"Is he willing to turn me loose with Jamie?"

"I don't know I'm just a messenger. Get Mario's information and report to the Chief this afternoon." She walked away without another look, stepping back into the warmth of the building.

There really wasn't anything he could say in response.

Jamie was arguing with a nurse when he caught up with her in the hall, pleading to be allowed to see Maria with tears in her eyes, tears that were ignored by the impassive nurse. The girl was not forcing her way through and Michael wondered why until he heard her beg to be told what room her friend was in.

"Please, can't you at least tell me what room she will be in?"

"I'm sorry, no. She's still in surgery and we don't know what her condition will be when she is brought back out. Cyborgs are not allowed into the ICU under any circumstances, so no matter what the situation, you will have to wait until she is released to a regular room. Now please, Jamie... Please, just go sit down and be quiet until we can tell you something."

The nurse was not taking her eyes off of Jamie and Michael could see that her arms were tensed to defend herself from the girl should she suddenly turn violent. It was this diversion that allowed him to go unnoticed until he was only ten feet away from Jamie, a spot he deemed the proper distance from which to startle her.

"Please! She's my best friend and I-"

"Jamie!"

Her head snapped around at the sound of his voice, the tone sharp and disapproving, which always got her immediate attention and made her look him in the eyes. A tear flew from her eye in the motion and fell to the floor, just visible to him from the angle of the fluorescent lights and the waxed sheen. He let her wait several moments for his orders, watching her calm a little as her body adjusted to the more relaxed state the conditioning seemed to set her into when paying close attention to him.

"You're not allowed to see her right now, and that is the doctors' instructions, not the nurse's. Leave the poor woman alone, sit down, and wait there until you calm down." He pointed her to a plain chair near the nurses station, the emphasis on the sitting part making it clear to Jamie what he was ordering her to do.

For a moment her eyes became angry at him, the glare speaking volumes about what she thought he should go do with the chair, but it was gone in a flash and she gave in, stepping slowly to the chair and sitting down, running her hands through her hair in her frustration.

"Thank you, Mister Christiansen."

"It's no problem. You know how head-strong she is at times..."

"Indeed." She crossed to the small waiting room and poured two cups of coffee, offering them up to Michael and Jamie in the interests of solidarity. They all wanted what was best for the patients, but there had to be some order maintained at all times, for everyone's sake. "It's always tough the first few hours after someone is brought in, but the only thing family and friends can do is wait it out."

"I hate waiting..."

Michael ignored Jamie's comment and decided to turn to Mario's condition instead.

"How about Mario? How bad was he hit?"

"He'll be fine. He took a rifle shot through the leg but it's not fatal. Maria evidently took the worst of it all in protecting him. His wound is a clean pass-through, and one of the doctors is handling it alone while the others take care of Maria."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Not for a little while. You'll have to wait until the doctor is finished treating him, and then probably a little while for the sedation to wear off. Call it a couple of hours."

He looked at Jamie who had been listening carefully and made a face at the idea of waiting, her impatience getting the better of her quite a bit today. He made his decision and took a seat next to her, placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close in a brotherly supportive way.

"We'll wait, Miss, thanks. Let me know if there is any change that I can see him earlier."

The nurse nodded and continued her rounds, leaving the pair alone together in the quiet ambiance of the hall.

"Hurry up and wait, huh?" Jamie was already struggling to maintain her sanity through the inaction.

"Yeah. Hurry up and wait."

When they were finally allowed to see Mario, Michael found a familiar look on his face, a look that he had found in the mirror numerous times since joining the agency. Mario was in pain; the emotional pain that comes from knowing your little girl's life was in someone else's hands and that you were absolutely powerless to do anything for her. Jamie's injuries had been bad, but she had never really been at death's door. Maria, from what he had been able to learn, was lucky to still be breathing after she was struck down.

"Michael... Thanks for coming." He sat up in the bed and shifted his blankets, grunting as he gently lifted his bandaged leg and moved it to get more comfortable for their conversation.

"It's nothing. You and Maria were there for us when we needed you. You and Hilshire are the only friends I have here, so we have to stick together."

"Yeah."

"Lorenzo wants a report on what happened." Michael pulled over a chair and straddled it, settling in to listen carefully."

"What happened? Hmph... I got sloppy, that's what happened. I got sloppy and Maria saved me, and nearly got killed in the process."

Michael could see the self-loathing on Mario's face as he blamed himself for all of it. Even if it were his fault, the one thing Michael had learned was that it took bad people to make bad things happen, and that sometimes those people got lucky too.

"Tell me what happened."

Mario's eyes shifted to Jamie and Michael read the look in them, that she should not hear what was about to be said.

"Jamie, go down the hall to the waiting room and remain there until I say otherwise."

"But-"

"Jamie!" He snapped at her, finally taking as much attitude from her as he could stand in one day. "I gave you an order, and I expect you to follow it. Now go."

"Fine!" She stormed out and he heard her boots walk down the hall to the waiting room. She should not be able to hear him from there with the ambient noise, but he closed the room's thick door to be on the safe side. "Okay, Mario, I'm listening."

"I received a lead from one of my informants last week, so I was following up on it. These guys make films, right? So naturally I started looking for underground sources of film stock and equipment. One of my people put me onto a small shop in Pisa, run by a guy with good connections. A little cash got me the time yesterday when Excalibur's people were picking up a shipment, so I set up shop across the street and waited. They came and left, and we followed their van to Lucca where they went into a set of warehouses. Another car showed up and two men pulled a woman and two children out at gun-point, forcing them inside."

"Their next victims?"

"That was my thought. There wasn't any time for to call in the agency, and the local cops were bought off to stay out of the area, according to my informant, so we went in."

"What happened?"

"It was a trap. The whole damn thing had been a set-up from the start. They were waiting when we entered the main room. One of them must have been jumpy, because he fired before we came through the door and Maria pushed me back to save me. One round caught me in the leg but the rest hit her, slowing her down. As she started to get up, they shot her... they shot her with one of those big revolvers."

The pain of what he had to watch was obvious on his face.

"The first shot put her down, smashing her hip. The next two were to make her suffer. My gun had slipped away when I was hit, or I would have tried to kill them all as they stood there and laughed at her as she struggled to move. It was like they were watching some dying fish flop around."

His face darkened with shame and hatred as he continued on.

"They tied me up to a post where I could watch, then they made their movie with those poor people. Jesu Christo, Michael, I never thought anyone could do that kind of thing to kids. Maria couldn't move at all, and at one point they dragged her over and started carving her skin up with a knife. Not to kill... just to hear her scream as the point ripped across her."

He was sweating as the images flooded back to him, images Michael was glad he hadn't seen first-hand. After a minute of silence, Mario sipped some water and managed to continue on.

"They raped and slaughtered the kids' mother in front of them to elicit more fear from them, tormenting them all the way up until they cut them up and left them to die. Jesus, Michael, I had to watch them die!"

"Damn it." More victims, both living and dead now, and the scum were practically doing it in the open, taunting him. "Why didn't they kill you and finish off Maria?"

"I think they thought she was going to die from her wounds. As for me... They left me alive to tell you that you and Jamie will get it worse when they get to you. At least, that's what they said. They think that we can't stop them."

"Well, so far we haven't been able to." He started to pace slowly by the window, working the thoughts around in his head in an attempt to come up with something that would get Lorenzo to turn them loose. He looked up to find tears in Mario's eyes, tears from the helpless feeling he'd had as he watched those kids die. "It's not your fault, Mario. They caught you by surprise and effectively stopped you from the first moment. There's no shame in being the victim."

"Tell that to those kids. And Maria." Neither spoke for several minutes as they let the story sink in, but Mario managed to continue on with his story eventually. "It took Maria two hours to crawl over and get my knife into my hands, then she collapsed. I phoned in for help and here we are."

"Okay... I'll talk to Lorenzo, and after this, he has to let me and Jamie hunt them down."

"Yeah."

"Try to rest up, and be ready to help Maria when she wakes up."

"I already am. It's just the waiting part that is so horrible."

"I know."

Michael opened the door to leave, but Mario called him back, offering a warm handshake for good luck. "Be careful, Michael. These guys are ruthless."

Michael smiled, feeling more confidence now that he had yet another reason to tear the people apart when he finally found them.

"So am I. So am I."


	13. Chapter 28 to 29

Chapter: 28

Jamie lay sleepless in her bed, her mind unable to turn itself off with the thoughts of her injured friend and the men who hurt her. Michael had told her most of what had happened to Maria and Mario, but she could see that he was picking the facts, concealing the worst of them from her in his nearly imperceptible way, all in an effort to protect her from what he thought she might do. It was these thoughts that made her really concerned about what so terrible had happened that he was hiding it from her. Her mind refused to shut off and she drifted in a tired, half-asleep realm where her thoughts took on a visual form. Her last glance at the clock had said about two-thirty in the morning, but she was unable to determine how long ago that had been without looking at it again, something she really didn't feel like doing. She had the suspicion it had only been a few minutes ago.

There was a sound in the hall, someone moving around, and she ignored it as being one of the other cyborgs, their nights lately having been nearly as sleepless as her own. The door suddenly opened, however, and the bright overhead light blinded her, shooting a pain to the back of her tired eyes. Michael stepped over quickly and ripped the covers off of her, tossing a pile of clothes at her.

"Get up now!"

"Michael? What-"

"Shut up and get dressed. We don't have any time to screw around." He closed the door to the hall and started digging in her dresser drawers, pulling pieces of clothing out and examining them intently, placing a few in a backpack and the rest carelessly back in the drawer.

"Michael, please... What are you doing?"

"Shut up and dress. We're going out."

His refusal to discuss further told Jamie that he was upset about something, something worrisome enough that he was moving in the middle of the night. The clothing he had tossed at her was stuff he had bought, casual enough to look inconspicuous, but thick enough to keep her warm on the cold night. She quickly stripped to her underwear and had one leg in the jeans when he tossed a pair of panties at her, a serious look on his face.

"Change everything, Jamie."

"Okay..." She did as he said, turning her back out of some modesty. "Please tell me what's happening."

"I got a tip and we're acting on it. That's all you need to know for now."

"Are you sure it's okay for us to do it?" Their confinement to the base had not been lifted to her knowledge and she hated the idea of his getting into trouble again.

"Frankly, Jamie, I don't give a damn whether we are allowed. We're doing it my way now." He finished stuffing the selected clothes in the pack, tossed in a few extra magazines for her Walther, and zipped it shut, dropping it by the door.

"I see... Will I need my rifle?"

"No, just your pistol."

"Okay." Whatever he had planned, it was not an overt action that required heavy force, and that meant that he was being cautious again, something that came as a relief to her as she watched his seemingly hurried packing of her things."

She had finished dressing and slipped into a pair of boots he had given her in place of her favorite ones. It suddenly struck her that he had outfitted her entirely in clothing that the agency had not provided, something that seemed almost excessively compulsive.

"Are you ready?"

"I guess. Oh, my purse!" She reached for it, but his hand grabbed her wrist roughly and she found herself spun towards the door with a shove towards it.

"Forget it, I have all of the papers you'll need." His sudden aggression was just as quickly hidden behind the gentlemanly gesture of holding open a brand new coat for her to slip into. His actions were well out of the normal, even for his usual, unpredictable self, but she trusted in him to do the right thing for them both, so she did not question it any further than she had.

"Lets go." Michael turned off the light and opened the door, handing her the backpack before slipping out into the hall. There was no one around, but she could tell his nerves were on edge, his senses tuned to processing as fast as possible to allow him every fraction of a second to make a decision on them. Jamie got the feeling he was watching out for the agency people as much as any other danger, and that he was playing it all on the fly, doing his best to remain unpredictable in spite of his limited options.

They took the back stairs and crossed through the kitchen to the small loading bay that was used to receive supplies for the commissary, a loading bay that contained Alessandro's tiny sub-compact car.

"Are we stealing Sandro's car?"

"I'm borrowing it. We're trading off later."

"Michael, what is going on?"

"Get in."

He scrunched himself in and moved the seat back as far as it would go, something Jamie had to do also on the passenger side.

"It's like my mother has been driving this thing..." The engine started and he pulled out once Jamie had her seatbelt on, driving carefully to the front gate, trying to maintain his cool through his excited nerves.

"Good Morning, Mister Christiansen. Meeting up with Mister Ricci, eh?"

"Yeah, we needed to do some bait and switch with the cars for his current operation. I have to drop this off in town for him."

"That's great..." Michael could hear the lack of enthusiasm in the guard's voice. It was three A.M., after all.

"Can I see your pass please, sir?"

"I don't have one. I'm just going out and coming right back."

"You know that I can't let you out without a pass, sir. Mister Croce's orders."

"Eduardo, isn't it?" Michael read the name from the guard's badge.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you understand what kind of urgency it must entail for someone to be leaving at three in the morning?" Michael's words dripped annoyance and hinted at anger, tones that the guard was not oblivious to, judging by his half step back from the window.

"I'm just following orders, sir. Please be nice to me." His hand was on his gun, Michael noticed, and was apparently under the belief that he might have to use it.

"Listen, son... I have an important task that you are keeping me from, and I really have no more time to waste on you... So open the gate, please."

"I can't do that, Mr. Christiansen." His instincts were clearly telling him that something was not right with this. It was going to come to what Michael had wanted to avoid. The guard had drawn his gun but kept it at low ready, an instant from coming to bear on a target. "Please turn the vehicle around and return to the main building. I'll have someone meet you there."

Michael actually started to regret replacing the previous guard for his lack of attention to detail. His eyes met Jamie's and he saw that she was on alert, her hand on her Walther and the guard never leaving her line of sight, ready to move on Michael's command.

"No matter what happens, stay in the car. That's an order, Jamie."

"Yes sir."

"Eduardo, we need to discuss this matter." He opened the door and started to climb out, the move spooking the guard into raising his gun at Michael.

"Please stay in the vehicle, sir!"

"Listen, I have a pair of American Ben Franklins in my pocket that are yours if you just open the gate."

"Stay where you are, sir. I'm warning you! Get your hand out of there!"

"What?" Michael moved away from the car to get Jamie out of the guard's line of sight, a trick to distract the man to watching two directions instead of one. "C'mon... No one is above a bribe, especially a minimum-wage gate guard." His hand came out of his jacket slowly with the folded bills.

"Don't move! I'm not going to take any bribes, pal. I worked hard to get this job and I'm not going to risk losing it in this economy. I'm going to call Mr. Croce and have him deal with you."

"Fine, be my guest. Sheesh, some people just can't accept a good deed."

The guard had backed towards the guard-shack and bumped against the corner, then switched the gun into his left hand and reached for the phone with his right. His fingers touched the edge of the phone, but he couldn't seem to find the handset by feel; it just wasn't there anymore. He took his eyes off of Michael to find it, but saw only the red cord trailing off behind him. The entire incident so far was occupying his brain so much that he didn't realize that someone must be holding the handset behind him, at least not until his eyes came to rest on the phone in Jamie's hand, followed by the disturbing look in her eyes.

"There's a call for you." She swung her arm and the plastic hand-piece shattered against Eduardo's head, dropping him to the floor unconscious.

Michael stepped over and checked the guard, glad that he wasn't seriously injured by her attack. "That was sad."

"I had to make it up on a whim. If you come up with a better line, let me know." She hit the gate button and climbed into the driver's seat of the car, pulling it through while Michael phoned the front desk to report the unconscious guard. He climbed back in the driver side when Jamie moved over and they were off, cruising down the highway towards Rome as fast as the little engine could manage.

"We're going to be in trouble again."

"That's why I told you to stay in the car. I didn't want you to get in trouble for my actions."

"We're in this together, Michael. Besides, I can just tell them that you ordered me to." She forced a smile, working to get comfortable with the feeling that they were going blatantly against the agency's orders, orders that she really did not care for at all, but nevertheless felt compelled to worry about.

"Great, thanks." In spite of his sarcasm, he couldn't help but feel a bit warmed by her loyalty to him. What they had to do was going to be difficult at best, but he knew they both had the resourcefulness to do it, and things would get easier once they escaped Italy.

"So what's the plan?"

"The plan is to get out of Italy and to a place of my choosing."

"That's it?"

"For the moment. What comes after is determined by luck, skill, and fate. Until we are safe, I'm not going to worry about it."

"They aren't going to be happy."

"Fuck 'em. We'll deal with them when _I_ choose to, not a moment earlier."

It struck Jamie that this must be the Michael that Tanya had seen and dealt with for so long. He had shed every trace of his polite and professional self and reverted to the action-oriented, devil-may-care attitude that he had worked so hard to get rid of. Maybe it was a sign of just how tough the fight had become for him- a sign that what they were about to do would require the most primitive parts of their psyches to be unleashed.

He pulled over a few miles outside of Rome, flipping on the caution lights and settling back to wait. He was lost in his thoughts, she could tell, but his eyes never stopped moving between the mirrors and the windshield, always watching for something, be it danger or relief.

The wait was not long, however, and within five minutes, a non-descript car pulled off in front of them and flashed their headlights twice. Michael drew his gun and slipped it into his jacket pocket, refusing to take any chances.

"Lets go, Jamie."

"Okay."

He led the way while she carried their things, walking slowly in the darkness of the night, silhouetted in the amber flashes from their car's lights. Michael's hand came out of his pocket as he turned to motion her to hurry up, the gun merging perfectly into his body's outline as he continued walking. Unless you caught a flash of light off of it, you could never have seen it pulled. Jamie was in awe of his skills but they quickly made her wonder what he was doing and whom they were meeting that required his gun in hand.

The other car's occupants climbed out and she gasped as the interior light revealed Sandro and Petra. Was Michael going to attack them in his effort to escape the agency? If a shot were fired, it would be a fight to the death with a close friend.

"Michael..."

"Shut up."

The pairs approached each other and Jamie saw Petra's Spectre M4 in her hands and there was no trace of the smile she usually had on her face. She was more alert than she herself was and Jamie felt herself walking into a disadvantageous position, something that both Michael's and the agency's training told her was extremely bad. She shifted the pack to her right shoulder, using the motion and the darkness to cover her draw.

"Thanks for coming out, Sandro."

"Thanks for not destroying my car." He tossed the keys to the other car to Michael and as surprised when he caught them with his weak hand. It was then that he noticed the way Michael was holding his other hand and realized that it was a weapon. "What's with the gun?"

"Insurance. I wasn't sure what side you would come down on."

"You know that I don't care for Jean and his methods. I can't really say I approve of yours either, right now. Jean called and wondered what I was doing and why you had my car. He also mentioned the gate guard."

"It was handled until Jamie stopped listening to me." He glared at her just long enough for her to understand his disapproval.

"Well, the hunt is on now. I told him I would stop you at all costs."

Jamie stiffened at that and her gun snapped up, taking aim at Petra's head, her loyalty to Michael stronger than her friendship, but not by choice. Petra was taken by surprise and her sub-machine gun was late coming up, but the pause made the actions moot. No one wanted to fire first, but neither girl was going to let a second round go without the first being answered.

Michael could play poker with the best of them when he really cared to, and he saw through Sandro's tough facade immediately.

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"With this..." He held up a small box and a small arc of electricity crackled across the pins, it bluish glow playing across his face.

"A stun gun... Cute, but not very effective."

"It's got the maximum non-lethal charge, and supposedly the girls can be incapacitated by it, at least for a couple of minutes." He smiled as he said it, a smile that Michael wasn't sure he liked.

"Do you really want to test that?"

Sandro tossed the box to Michael gently. "Got a better idea?"

"Not really. I was just going to kick your ass."

"Hardly a challenge for you. I'll take the burns to bruises."

"It's your choice. I'll enjoy it either way." Michael holstered his Smith and stepped closer to Sandro, his body language no longer as guarded as before.

The guns lowered and both girls looked at their handlers, not understanding what was happening.

"What is going on here?"

"Petra, you and Sandro are going to be overpowered by Jamie and I in a surprise attack, an attack that allows us to make a miraculous escape into the darkness."

"What? That's the plan?" Jamie holstered her gun and shifted her pack again, incredulous at the idea.

"It's simple, and no one gets hurt... too badly."

"I don't like it at all." Petra finally spoke up.

No one could expect either cyborg to like the situation, which was why the handlers were making the calls.

"Petra, just do as I say. They need to escape, and I'm telling you that we're going to help them. Now, let Michael zap you and lets get this over with."

There was a huff of discontentment, but she pulled the collar of her shirt to the side for him. "Hurry up." She closed her eyes and cowered slightly in anticipation of the jolt as she felt the cold, copper contacts touch her skin.

"Petra?"

"What?" Her eyes opened to see what Michael wanted. He waited until she relaxed and then zapped her, the electricity shooting through her body for a long second before she collapsed to the ground in a twitching mass.

"Relax..."

"That was mean, Michael." Jamie didn't approve of his technique towards her friend.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't sure if her anticipating would reduce its effects, so I decided to surprise her. Now..." He turned to Sandro who had worked himself up to it.

"Go ahead, I can handle it. It's not like it's the first time."

"Don't worry, I'll only use a short burst."

He fired again and Alessandro was laid out flat next to Petra, his eyes wide open as his still-conscious mind tried to cope with the powerless feeling in his body.

"You're a good guy, Sandro. Don't change at all." Michael pointed Jamie to their new car, made sure their two "victims" were safely off of the road, and then climbed into the comfortable seat, actually feeling a bit guilty at what he had done to the pair. A glance at Jamie received a questioning look in return.

"What?"

"Nothing..." He pulled back onto the road, and the edge of the headlights caught movement as Petrushka started to move, slowly getting her body to respond again. The image of her crawling towards her handler was hard to clear from his mind as the dark pavement became the only thing to look at.

"That didn't feel right, Michael. I never want to do that again."

"Well, I can't guarantee that it won't, but I'm certainly not going to relish another opportunity. It's now them or us, Jamie, but with any luck we won't have another encounter. We're going to disappear into the night."

"Is that possible?"

"Hmm yes. But only if you do exactly as I say, all of the time."

"Okay. What's first?"

"First, you reach in the glove box there."

She pulled it open and looked at the contents, pulling out the only thing that wasn't an owner's manual. It was a dark blue winter hat, one that was typical to the college-girl crowd, but there was something odd about it. As she played with it in her fingers, it made a crinkling sound.

"What is it?"

"It's a hat. It's an ordinary hat that I modified just for you. I put a reflective metallic layer, similar to the type used in folding parabolic radio reflectors, in between the layers."

"That's great! Er, why?"

"Because just before I make the next turn, I want you to put it on and not take it off until I tell you to. You will wear it everywhere, at all times."

"That's a bit strange, Michael."

"Well, it's the only way to keep them from tracking you."

"Tracking me?"

"You didn't honestly think that the agency would let their cyborgs to wander around without being able to track them? That would just be foolish. There's a small GPS transmitter just inside the access point in your skull, and it tells them everywhere you go. Hopefully that material in the hat will block the signal."

She hadn't thought about it at all, and maybe she was programmed not to think about it, but the idea of never being able to hide from everyone made her feel trapped, almost paranoid. She pulled the hat on and settled back into the seat, suddenly feeling fatigued from the night's adventure, and the thought of several more hours of it seemed daunting. They now had two groups after them, the killers and the agency. Both had incredible resources and experience, and it was going to be a real test of Michael's abilities for them to even escape the country alive, let alone hide for any length of time.

"Where are we going to go?"

Her question sounded like a little girl, one who was old enough to understand that her house had just burnt down and that she was essentially homeless.

"I know a place, and I know a few people that can help us. Like I said, we're going a single step at a time. I have a plan, but if we get too hung up on the details, we'll end up predictable, and then we'll die."

"You sure know how to instill confidence in someone."

"Just trust in me. I won't fail you."

They made the fastest possible way to the Ciampino airport and booked the first morning flight to France in a smaller Airbus that was a little more than half-full. They touched down in the Paris-Orly airport a couple of hours later, breezing through customs with new false Italian Identity cards, cards that he had saved from his burned-out apartment. At some point, Michael had anticipated for his and Jamie's need for unofficial Italian credentials, though where he was able to get them was a mystery to her.

Another hour found them in a comfortable hotel in Paris, tipping the bellhop and relaxing for the first time since their night began almost eight hours before. Jamie could see that Michael was exhausted, having likely been up since five on the morning that Maria and Mario had been brought to the hospital. Now when had that been?

The numbers added up and she realized that it was only the day before. Sometimes a sleepless night can be an eternity, a perception that she was now able to truly understand.

"You look tired."

"I _am_ tired." His eyes wanted to close on their own now that he was in a warm atmosphere and feeling somewhat safe.

"Why don't you get a shower and some sleep. I'll wake you up this evening."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." She smiled at him, knowing that her smile could often give him just enough strength to keep going a while longer.

"Okay. Stay in the room and remember to keep your hat on."

"I know, I know." She pushed him towards the bathroom and settled into a chair when she heard the shower, flipping the television to the international news channel. In the entire time that Michael was in the shower, Jamie never heard anything about two Italian rogue agents, so it was unlikely that there was a major manhunt underway throughout the EU for them.

When Michael came out, he tossed her a ladies shower cap to cover her hat with, then stepped to the mini-bar and opened a bottle of Vodka that he had requested when they checked in. He took several large swigs and settled into the couch, still drying his bare chest with his towel as he lifted the bottle again.

"You should take it easy. It'll be difficult to protect you if you're dead drunk." Jamie felt naked without her guns, having left her Walther in a secure locker with Michael's way back at Ciampino airport. If they were going to do some hunting here, they would need to procure weapons locally.

"I've earned this bottle, Jamie, and before we leave this city, I'll have earned another. Maybe two."

"Just make sure you don't get sick from it."

"Thanks, dear. Now go get your shower."

"Fine."

Jamie took her time in the shower, being careful to avoid slipping off or soaking the knitted hat that she had slipped the shower cap over. She would have really like to take it off, but Michael had been specific about why, and that was enough for her. They could not afford to let the agency find them, at least not until they had finished with whatever he had in mind in Paris.

Michael had said that he had received a tip on their targets, a tip important enough to act on immediately, regardless of the agency's restriction on their movements...important enough to play rough with agency people. She would follow him, but it didn't mean that she was without questions. What were they going to do, and what would it take to protect him? What would it take to protect her self?

She was on edge already, what with the threats to them being as numerous and disguised as they were, but the sights and feeling of being in Paris again... It was difficult to control the fear inside her. It wasn't serious yet, but somewhere in her was a quiet cry to get away, to leave as fast as she could to save herself.

It was the assault, or more specifically the memories of it, dragging her down into the abyss of her own neuroses. Michael must know that she remembered, but they had not discussed it at all, and perhaps he was afraid to. That fear, she felt, had to do with the gap in her memory from before they went to Switzerland.

She remembered picking up Tanya at the station, beating up some punks on the street, and then settling into Michael's bedroom to sleep. The next thing she remembered was waking up in her usual hospital room, feeling okay but a bit drowsy. The doctor had said that something had happened in her body that caused a neural feedback, something which had knocked her out and caused a bit of memory lapse, but the more she thought about it, she wasn't so sure. She had to take higher doses of the medicine now, something Michael had to have agreed to even though he had told her previously that it wasn't healthy for her...that it limited her thinking ability.

When she realized that he was accepting such an order, she had become angry, which led to another close inspection of the toilets. Only Maria knew what she had been thinking, and the girl had kept their sisterly secret between them, allowing Jamie to try to voice her displeasure in the only way she felt she could: by depressing him a little with her 'robot' routine.

The one thing she hadn't counted on was Tanya's ability to see through her mask and break it. She had a feeling that that quality was Tanya's true skill; to read people for whom they really are and take advantage of it. It was a skill that Jamie felt she had to learn and possess. Tanya had said it would take years to develop it into the instinct that she herself had, but that Jamie had the basic intuition for it, and that was where you had to start.

She had watched everyone in the hotel lobby as they were checking in, reading them as best she could, but she could only wonder if she were right. She tried reading the woman in the mirror as she toweled herself dry, but found only a person who looked uncomfortable in her own skin. Maybe it wasn't possible to study one's self objectively.

About the only person Jamie could actually read with any certainty was Michael, who was now forcing himself to work outside of his normal boundaries to remain unpredictable. This now made reading him nearly impossible to Jamie, something she considered as she watched him sleep drunkenly on the couch.

She settled in next to him and pulled a blanket over them both, resting her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes close but making a mental note to remain vigilant. She didn't need to know what he was going to do in order to protect him.

She only needed to be beside him.

The late afternoon found the pair walking the streets of Paris, dressed close enough to the locals that they really did not stand out. Jamie had grown used to being the most-eyed woman around, her height, looks, and usually foreign-styled clothes making her stand out some, but here many of the women were her height and better looking (at least she thought so), so with the adherence to local styles of dress, she simply disappeared into the crowd.

She could tell that Michael was entirely comfortable that they were invisible, not out of carelessness but experience. He had spent a lot of time in Paris, knew the styles, knew the language fairly well, and knew how to make himself invisible. She had come to realize that Michael was a much shrewder thinker than he let on. The reason he didn't fit in well in Italy after his time there was not because he could not, but because he did not want to. It was a card he was saving, 'just in case,' as he would say, for when he needed it badly enough. Then he could simply vanish into the crowds, never to be seen again.

"You're incredible, Michael!" She practically bubbled with the praise for him, wrapping her arms around his left arm and hugging to it as an over-excited child might.

"What?" His questioning look reined her in from the obviously random and unintelligible comment.

"I was just thinking about how smart you are at times." A warm smile from her received one in turn, though Michael's mind was entirely on his field craft, surreptitiously checking for tails and focusing on putting his plan into action.

"Oh."

"Just 'Oh'? C'mon, can't you say something a bit more intelligible? I feel like I'm all alone here."

"Really?"

Jamie gave a frustrated growl but continued clinging to his arm, playing the role of a girlfriend, at least in her own mind. He had said that they should appear to be a couple out for a walk and her heart had leapt at the idea. It was a dream to her, even if it was pretend.

Michael could feel Jamie's excitement as she clung to his arm but his focus was on the mission, his entire being focused on his planned motions. His target appeared, a street-lamp on a corner of two side streets, a place where his signal could not help but be spotted by the person he wanted to see it.

He timed the lights correctly and grabbed the lamp as he passed, swinging himself and Jamie lazily around the corner to cross the street perpendicular to the one they had been walking on. Jamie's motion showed that she had not been expecting it, but she fell into line beside him again, hardly missing a step.

"Okay, a date is set. Now we'll wait."

"What?" She glanced at him questioningly as they stepped onto the other curb.

"I planted a tag on the post as we passed. It's a signal to my contact."

"I didn't even notice."

"That's the idea." His hand had affixed a strip of black electrical tape on the pole, a strip that his contact would see as they walked home from their cover job, checking the post as always for a contact signal. The next step was the drop of a one-time contact number for him to use at a pre-selected location, a location he had received with the tip that led him here. Of course, the contact needed some time to get the signal and plant the number...

"Lets get something to eat."

"Okay."

They had dinner in the corner of a casual restaurant, still keeping to their roles as prospective lovers, chatting quietly about common things, at times completely forgetting that they were being hunted. It was actually relaxing for Jamie, whose back was to the door and thus required her to trust that Michael would see any danger before her. He, in turn, seemed to relax slightly as he chatted her up, perhaps even forgetting that he was talking to his cyborg.

The time finally came and they walked a short distance to the Champ de Mars, the Eiffel Tower lit brightly in the distance as the night began to fall. It was a warmer night for winter and Jamie wished she could remove her hat to let the breeze flow through her hair, but Michael's warnings not to always came to the front of her head immediately after she thought it, and that was the final word.

He guided her to sit on a bench and they continued talking, their bodies closer than before and recalling the memory of that first exciting night in the club in Rome. His arm slipped around her shoulders and she leaned into him, resting her head against him with a soft sigh, and if he was at all surprised at the sound, he never showed it. The decorative searchlights on the tower came on and illuminated the sky romantically.

"Hmm... Is this what it's like to be on a date?"

"No. This is what it is like to be on a date in Paris. In some places, the environment is vastly different. Central Park in New York is a fun one, where no night with the lady is complete without getting mugged."

"That's not funny. And quit making fun of my question."

"I wasn't making fun of your question, I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit."

"You're uncomfortable with me so close?"

"Maybe." His feeling of discomfort came not from her, but from his desire to share the moment with Tanya. His heart ached for her, a pain that he knew would never really be swept away, not ever.

Jamie pulled away and looked up at him, her blue eyes warm and soft, and he could see that she understood his pained expression. "I'm sorry. I should be more considerate."

"It's not you. We are playing a role right now, and it's just something I need to learn to deal with." He leaned forward, his elbows on his legs, giving the outward appearance of someone working up to making a decision. Jamie's eyes caught a glimpse of his hand as it slipped under the bench and came back out with a slip of paper, which he casually slipped into his coat pocket as he straightened up and then leaned back. It was a clean dead-drop pick-up and he made it look so easy.

"Is that all there is to it?"

"Yes. Lets wait a few minutes and then continue walking. There's a phone a little ways down the street."

"Okay." She leaned into him again with his coaxing arm on her shoulder, and waited.

The phone at the other end of the number that had been left to him only range twice before a feminine voice answered in French.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Be at Francois' in twenty minutes, the usual table. Don't be late."

The other end clicked before he could say any more and his impression was that his contact was under surveillance, a distinct possibility that he entirely understood.

"What did they say?" Jamie was watching the street while he made the call and had seen no one she thought was paying attention to them.

"They gave the meeting place. We have twenty minutes to get there, so we'll have to hurry."

He led her on a fast-paced trip through the subways for two stops before getting off and ducking through several back alleys at a running pace, a pace she could keep up better than he could. They finally emerged from the darkness on a busy street, just around the corner from the restaurant. A glance at his watch told him they would make it, so he took a moment to catch his breath, watching the people entering and leaving, and eyeballing the vehicles parked on the street for suspicious signs. Satisfied, he led Jamie by the hand to the door and inside.

The interior was of a casual type, with couples, families, and friends all chatting warmly as they had a fine time. The atmosphere reminded Michael of the Applebee's he used to frequent in his college days, down to the greeter whom he brushed off politely by indicating they were joining friends already there.

They wound their way to the back of the room, aiming for an inconspicuous table where a familiar face glanced up at him momentarily and then waved him over. The redhead squashed out her cigarette in an ashtray and waved him to sit down.

"You're on time for once in your life."

"My new work has me on my toes."

"I heard... The Italians. I don't suppose it would help to ask what they want in Paris?"

"My being here is personal in nature."

"I see..." She tapped out another cigarette and lit it, puffing a few times pensively. "You know why I've helped you so far, right?"

"Yes. I have to admit, I was surprised when you sent that information. I wasn't sure you were keeping up on it."

"There are a lot of things about me that would surprise y-"

"Excuse me!" Michael looked at Jamie and saw the confused and frustrated expression on her face. "Can you two please fill me in, because all of this cloak-and-dagger talk is leaving me in the dark."

The two adults glanced at each other for a moment before the woman motioned Michael to proceed.

"Jamie, this is Emily Lanstrom, she worked for me when I was a team leader here in France. Emily, this is Jamie, my partner at the agency."

"Please, call me Emmy." She held out her hand and Jamie shook it, wondering just how many women Michael had working around him back then.

"It's almost always a pleasure to meet one of Michael's colleagues."

"Almost?" Emmy smiled warmly and her gray eyes seemed to lure one into them. "Sounds like she has you figured out already."

"She's pretty quick." He put his arm around her in a proud-father manner, a gesture that made her smile. "Anyway, Jamie...Emmy, Tanya, and I go way back to Prague. When I was shot, I got transferred to France and Emmy volunteered to come along as my technical expert."

"And it's a damn good thing I did, too. I can't count the number of times he nearly killed himself by getting his wires confused. Remember what happened to that MI-6 agent in Beirut? I knew, I knew in my heart, that if I weren't there beside you the whole damn time, you would screw up in a much more historic manner than he did."

"And I nearly did... The saving grace being that I lived to regret my mistake."

Jamie could see that it was something he regretted deeply and she could only guess that they were starting to discuss the Calais bombing, something she knew about as a defining point in his life, but nothing of the details.

"You're talking about the mission where he was booted out?"

"Yes." Emmy was thinking about that day, and how she had been back home, dealing with her own tragedy. If she had been there, she might have been able to save the kids. "I keep thinking about that, Michael. If I had been there that day, I would have wired in a fail-safe, and those kids would have lived. And the agents..."

"I know, Emmy. It wasn't your fault, though. You had to be with your family, and I went ahead without you."

The woman puffed on her cigarette some more, watching Michael as he thought about that day, realizing that he probably relived it every time he close his eyes, and that was his punishment for it.

"So, why are you helping us?" Jamie still wasn't clear about what Emily's purpose in all of it was.

"Well, one reason is old-time's sake... Another reason is my friendship with Tanya. I owed her a few favors and never got to pay her back, so I figured helping her was the least I could do. She called me last fall and asked me for information on certain people, people we had been keeping an eye on."

"But the biggest reason?" Michael had to hear it, if only to convince himself that he could entirely trust in her.

"The biggest reason, Jamie, is that my sister was killed by the same people you are looking for. That's why I went home that week of the Calais mission."

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to pry!"

"Don't worry about it. Bad stuff happens. The best you can do is to fight it where you can. As you can imagine, Michael, your little adventure more than a year later was something I followed carefully. I knew it was the same group, so I put in some queries to some people in Langley, and stumbled on something we didn't know."

"What?"

"That the Department of Homeland Defense got the case work on Excalibur but didn't follow it up at all. It's not a domestic threat issue, so the paperwork, which was combined as part of the post 9-11 data merge, all got set aside in an FBI lock box. No one has touched it because it's a Europol issue."

"Nice... So major information to break this thing up has been sitting around gathering dust. Well, I can't say that I'm surprised. I mean, we _are_ talking about the people who whacked Oswald to cover up the Kennedy truth."

Jamie just stared at the pair as they bantered on, casually talking state secrets as if they were sports scores.

"Okay... I'm assuming you have the information now."

"Part of it. There is a lot of sources-classified stuff in there, Michael, so I can't get to the best parts. The best I can do at this moment is point you in a direction and let you go." Sources-classified meant that it was information passed along from informants as part of the routine information. They had to be protected for the day when they have essential information, and so the other stuff was sealed until it could be edited to protect the source, or when the source was no longer valid or useful.

"You're not wanting a piece of them?"

"No... No, Michael. I had thought about it, but I can't say that vengeance is as important to me as it is to you. I'm just not strong enough to make it."

" None of us are, Emmy... But someone has to stop them. They've had a free pass for too damn long." He never really had a hope that she would be of the same passion as he was. Emmy was quiet and introspective, a supportive type of person who could be relied upon to watch your back, but was not really the one to lead or go it alone. "So where do we go to find them?"

"I have the information at my apartment. There's a place in Beauvais that the police missed in the Castillo investigation."

"We had his last known in the file as Beauvais, but I thought the cops knew where it was."

"Just his apartment. They didn't find the small house on the outskirts of town." She stood and slipped her coat on, putting down enough cash to cover the bill, and then texted out a single word on her phone. "A car will be here in a moment. You can rest at my place if you need to, and I have most of the equipment you'll need."

A short ride in the waiting car had them sitting in her living room as she thanked the driver, a friend Michael had never seen before. The door was closed and locked, and then she led them to the basement stairs and down, the musty smell of an old, stone basement greeting them before they got to the bottom.

"Over here..."

Emily went to the fuse panel on the wall and opened it, flipping a breaker. A section of the wall started to move inwards and Michael could see a modern room full of electronics and weapons racks inside. They followed her inside where a lone figure was tapping away on a computer terminal, entirely oblivious to their entry.

"Katherine, I'm back!"

"That wasn't long... Everything go okay?"

"Yeah."

Michael froze in his tracks when the woman turned around in her chair and slipped the headset off. Her eyes went wide when they locked onto him, a look that Jamie could tell was one of recognition, followed by intense anger.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She was out of the chair and lunging at him and Jamie moved to block her advance on Michael, but he shoved her aside roughly, opening himself up to the attack. He never flinched as she closed and landed her fist in his face, knocking him down and landing on top of him, continuing her attack through a face of anguish and tears.

"I'll kill you, you fucking bastard! I'll KILL YOU!"

Emily and Jamie watched as the woman pounded on him for several moments without any resistance from Michael at all. He was resigned to his fate at her hands and the realization of the fact was the only thing keeping Jamie from tearing into her. Instead she let her hit him until Emily wrapped her arms around her friend from behind and pulled her away, her anger subsiding into the tears of an emotionally broken woman.

"Michael..." She fell to her knees next to him and checked him, realizing quickly that he was still conscious but lying still, thinking about whatever a man who seems to have enemies everywhere thinks about. "Are you okay?"

He sat up slowly and rubbed the blood from his mouth, looking with soft eyes at the woman named Katherine.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Katherine."

"Sorry? You think that makes it all better?"

"No. Nothing I can do will ever make it better, but there hasn't been a day when it wasn't on my mind."

The woman stood and stormed past, pausing long enough to give him a hateful look before she continued on and slammed the door at the top of the stairs.

The others spent a minute in silence staring at the door, silence that wasn't broken until Jamie looked down at the man in her arms.

"Is there anyone you know who _doesn't_ want to kill you?"

Chapter 29

It was a new day for Janet Wells: Her first job. Her parents had been reluctant to send the sixteen year old into the workforce, preferring for her to concentrate on her studies so she could get into the college she wanted. But a young woman with dreams of independence was hard to argue with and they finally relented on a part-time job at a local retailer.

The training was easy, even tedious, and after suffering through it she was finally being taken to the sales floor to begin her first evening in fashions.

"-And your main job on the evening shift is to recover the sales area you're assigned to. You make sure the clothes are picked up off of the floor, placed back on the hangers correctly, and organized by style, size, and color." The fashions manager stopped at a rack that was obviously awry and pulled a shirt from it, the hangar backwards and obviously put back on by a careless customer. She flipped the hangar around and straightened the shirt on it, hanging back on the circular rack in its proper place, then spaced the other items to make it look full.

"It's not very difficult, just really tedious."

"I see." Janet went to the next rack and quickly sorted it to the same standards.

"Good. Just keep going through the department and I'll check back on you in a little bit. Be sure to smile for the customers. If there's anything you need help with, be sure to ask one of the others."

"Okay." She watched her manager head off towards the back somewhere and sighed, finally feeling like the responsible young adult she was trying hard to become. She continued on with the racks for half an hour, then moved onto the tables of men's shirts, flipping a messy one over and trying to fold it to match the other ones nearby, but could not seem to get the folds right.

"Here, let me help you."

Janet looked over at the young woman who had stepped up beside her quietly, giving her a smile as she read "Carol" on the nametag.

"I can't seem to get it right."

"It takes a lot of practice. Here... It's like this." Her hands flipped the shirt around deftly and in only a few seconds had a perfect match to the others. "You'll get it eventually, just keep at it. I'm Carol, by the way."

"I'm Janet, it's nice to meet you." She could tell the girl in front of her was warm and friendly, her short, red hair and green eyes speaking of genuine Irish descent, and they were usually friendly. She could also see a necklace with a cross on it just visible in the opening of her polo shirt. "Catholic?"

"Er...yeah. I don't go to church much, I'm afraid. You?"

"Pentecostal, every Sunday. I do some charity work in my spare time as well. I usually play at Marcello's coffee shop on Friday nights, but I'm not sure how that is going to go now with the job."

"Play? What do you play?"

"Guitar. I sing a bunch of cover tunes for the caffeine addicts and they seem to like it. Apparently they think I'm good because I pick up a few bucks in tips."

"That's great. Maybe I'll stop in to see you some time."

"I'd appreciate that, thanks."

Carol walked away and started conversing with a blonde working in the shoe department. They seemed to be good friends, a hunch that was confirmed when Carol led the woman over to her.

"Janet, this is our other closer, Angela."

"It's nice to meet you. Please, call me Angie."

"Janet..." She shook hands, feeling like she was going to fit in fine with the people here.

"Janet Wells..."

Jamie blinked several times, the scene in her mind more vivid than the real world around her, a world that was slowly coming into focus as her mind sorted out its signals. The memory of that night with Carol and Angie was clear as day to her, even as her memories of being Jamie Christiansen took hold again. She felt her mind seem to tick over between them, almost like driving on an asphalt road and suddenly crossing onto a brick one, the textures and sounds vastly different.

She sat up and held her head, willing the now noticeable headache away as the memories started to fade into the background of her mind. Her sigh caught the attention of Emily, Michael's friend from back in his CIA days.

"Feeling better after a nap, Jamie?"

"Not really. I've got a headache." She straightened up on the couch and looked around at the racks of weapons and electronics. "Where's Michael?"

"He's up talking with Katherine. They have a lot to discuss, and it's probably best if you don't disturb them."

There was a loud thump on the floor above and the sound of a woman screaming her head off in anger, both of which told Jamie that Michael was still talking. It was something she knew she should be concerned about, but the lack of concern in Emily's body language was enough to tell her that he wasn't in any real danger.

"There's some Tylenol in the first-aid kit over there and bottles of water in the fridge."

"Thanks." Jamie got to her feet carefully, feeling slightly dizzy, as though she stood up too fast. A few of the pills and several swigs of water helped her to feel better, and she leaned against the wall, staring at the racks of weapons. "What's their story? Is she another one of his girlfriends?"

"Katherine?" Emily seemed to laugh quietly, a laugh that was cut off when she continued further into her thoughts on the subject. "No, they were never an item. In fact, I'd say right now he's getting more attention from her than he ever did back then. You see... Michael killed her husband."

"Killed her husband?"

"Yeah. Paul was one of the agents killed in the Calais bombing. They had only been married a few months, and the whole thing broke her in ways only shrinks can understand. Maybe it would have been different if Michael had been taken back and charged with a crime, but it didn't work out that way. She's spent the past few years trying to get something of a life back, and the one thing she needed was a form of closure. I figured bringing Michael here would get something along those lines accomplished, and judging from the sudden silence upstairs, they've either come to something of an understanding, or she's killed him."

Jamie listened carefully and could just pick out the sound of a woman's sobbing over the sounds of the equipment in the room. There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, followed by the opening of the doorway, then Michael stepped in and sat down on the couch, his hand holding a cloth to his bleeding nose.

"That went well, I think."

"Everything okay now?" Emmy turned and eyed him carefully, seeing several spots that were going to bruise noticeably, but he was otherwise okay. Katherine's anger was deeply held, but as her friend, Emily knew that all she needed was to feel like she had enacted some form of punishment on him.

"I don't know, Emmy. I explained my view on the matter, how it was just a good intention gone terribly wrong, and that I can't ever forget it, and then let her beat me up until she couldn't fight anymore. She's held in a lot of pain, pain I entirely understand. Tanya... Tanya was the woman I loved, and she was taken from me, so in that manner I can relate to Katherine, something she seemed to understand. She'll never forgive me, and I'm not going to ask that she try, but maybe she's a little less angry about it now." His nose had finished bleeding and he tossed the rag into the trashcan beside the desk.

"That's good." She turned back to the computer to continue her research, but Michael sensed she wanted to say more.

"So what's the plan at this point?"

"It's whatever you want to do. Take the weapons and equipment you need. I'm getting a current satellite photo of the place for you, and I'll even drive you there, but I can't take part in it. If the cops find my DNA there at all, Langley will probably pull me back to the states, and maybe even cut me loose. We're supposed to be watching some Russian mafia group who is trying to set up shop here, but they've quieted down recently. I don't think they have the assets in place yet to stake their territory, so until something happens, I'm breaking the rules."

"Okay. Jamie, go pick out some gear."

"Yes, Michael."

Jamie walked to the wall and looked at the uniforms that were neatly arranged by style and size. There were several sets of BDU's from several nations, but she figured they were a bit over the top.

"What kind of dress?"

"We'll Johnny Cash it tonight."

"Eh?"

"Black out. Black shirt and pants, black gloves and boots. There's also some face-paint in the drawer over there." He pointed to a drawer marked as accessories and she went to it, sorting through until she found a tube of black grease paint.

"This is going to be terrible for my skin." The joke made him look at her, a slight smile forming as he understood that she was trying to get back their usual friendly banter.

"Since when did you worry about that?"

Jamie shrugged and picked out a black turtleneck and sweatpants, along with a proper size of boot. "What about a leather cat-suit. Isn't that what lady spies are supposed to wear?"

"There are some in the closet over there," Emmy stated without looking up. "But they tend to make too much noise when you move, as well as limiting your movement some. Though they do make you look good."

"Hmm..." She feigned considering the option and received the expected look from Michael about it, that is, a decided no. "What? You can't blame a girl for wanting to look good."

"I'll buy you one when this is all over." He stood and went to a weapons rack, sorting through the rifles for one that he might like. Jamie started doing the same with the handguns, pausing to handle a Nagant revolver mounted with a suppressor. The concept of a suppressed revolver seemed confusing to her until she dry-fired it a few times, watching the cylinder move forward to seal against the forcing cone of the barrel, different from other revolvers that don't seal the gap.

"Oh, I see. It seals itself, so the suppressor will work. Neat!"

"Yeah. Those are useful sometimes. Ammo is hard to find, though."

A plain-jane Springfield 1911A1 caught Jamie's eye and she picked it up, checking it for safety before examining it closely. The flat gray, Parkerized finish and non-adjustable sights were standard, but the grips were not; their black-walnut coloring and distinct emblem having been chosen by someone to personalize it. She looked at the design closely and realized that it was a griffin, the mythical beast of lore, with the body of a lion and the head, talons, and wings of an eagle. The carving was made by hand and was incredibly detailed.

"Someone must have really loved this one..." She flipped it up into her sightline experimentally, feeling the weight of the steel and the tension on the trigger as she dry-fired it at a wall.

"Hm?"

"This Springer... It's got a griffin engraved in black walnut grips and feels great in the hands."

"Oh, yeah." He never looked up from the guns to see it. "It used to be mine. I never got it back when I was booted out, and I completely forgot about it when I went to the Beretta. I haven't fired that gun since I took that forty-four in my shoulder."

"Is it special to you? I mean... It has a history to it, right?" She was really asking if it were special to him in the way that her necklace was to her: a memento of someone.

"No. It's just the gun I chose to carry back then, and I bought the grips to help me differentiate it from the millions of others out there."

"Oh..." It seemed to mean nothing to him, but for some reason she could not put it down. It felt like Michael to her, in the same way that his cologne made her feel comforted. Maybe he didn't care about it, but she felt like she had to. "Can I keep it?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out." A glance told him that she was happy with it, and since it's capacity was similar to her own Walther, he really didn't worry about her running out of ammo like he had on that fateful night.

"Great!"

She quickly found the spare magazines for it and loaded them from a box of hollow-points on the shelf above, thumbing out the first round of each topped-off magazine to make sure they weren't dragging at all. Satisfied, she loaded, cocked and locked it, and slipped it into a leather shoulder holster that she found on the same shelf.

"I feel better already, now that I'm armed."

Michael picked up a Browning High-Power, thumbing the action a few times to check it's mechanical reliability and noting that it was in good condition. The girls certainly knew how to keep things ready for the worst-case scenario.

"Done!" Emily pulled a page from the laser printer and handed it to Michael who glanced it over.

"That's good enough."

"Thermal imaging shows one human form at the site."

"Hardly a challenge." He stepped to the clothing rack and quickly changed into a set of black clothes, nodding to Jamie to do the same. Emily watched them change, noting how both were quickly and entirely in the zone, their minds given over to planning their moves.

"Should we make up a plan or wing it?" Jamie pulled her hair back with a rubber band and then tucked it under her hat securely. She pulled on the holster and fastened it, then slipped her black coat over it, checking it to make sure the gun was not printing visibly.

"We'll wing it. One person guarding a fixed target... It's barely worth worrying about."

Jamie frowned at his words, her training telling her to think otherwise. "Complacency breeds sloppiness, Michael. We can't afford mistakes since we're outside of the agency's influence."

Emmy laughed and pulled her coat on, slipping a Sig Sauer 232 in the pocket. "She sounds just like you sometimes."

"I know. It's no end of trouble for me."

It was still dark, the winter sun still several hours from lightening the sky at all. The cold was amplified by the wind, but the ambient temperature was still only just below freezing, preventing the snow from crusting and causing their footsteps to make slightly less noise than they otherwise would. The blowing wind covered their steps well enough as they ran towards the isolated house, their weapons at the ready and their senses keyed towards any sign of activity from the objective.

Jamie slowed to a careful walk as she approached the door, her steps gentle and silent and then Michael's hand settled onto her shoulder, the signal to proceed with their plan. They moved as a pair to the door, a side entrance to the attached garage, a place likely to be unguarded. Michael slipped a fiber-optic camera under the door and checked it, catching sight of a small bar at the top of the doorframe and a corresponding piece of metal on the door.

"He's got an alarm on it. It's a magnetic type with a powered sensor." He pulled a small electronic device from his pack and waved it across the doorway where he had seen the sensor. Several lights lit up on the silent device, lights that told him the amount of EM radiation emitted by the power wire for the sensor.

"It's live. Give me a second here." He dug in his pack again and came out with a long bar, about four inches on edge, with a battery pack and two wrapped blocks of a clay-like material. He cleared off a spot on the top of the door and unwrapped the putty, kneading it in his fingers quickly and then sticking a blob to a spot, and planting the battery pack firmly into it. The bar he stuck to the doorframe, just above the door and exactly even with the sensor. He flipped on the bar and checked it with the EM sensor, adjusting the bar's output to match the alarm sensor's output. It was always dicey with the magnetic types, but if he could trick it, he would be okay.

Jamie had picked the lock in the time in which he had set up, and her hand was ready to twist it open, her Springfield in the other. She watched as Michael finished his task by slipping a sliver of metal into the crack of the door, sliding it along the top until his meter registered a slight change in the magnetic field. At his nod, Jamie carefully turned the knob and slipped the door open, cringing and expecting an alarm to sound their entry. All was silent, however, and she caught a smile on his lips as he pushed it further open and moved inside.

The garage was typical, a small car and numerous pieces of junk everywhere, and a single door leading into the house, a door that showed no signs of being alarmed. He made a hand-motion that instructed Jamie to listen at the door, one of the plethora they had practiced until they could read them fluently. She leaned her head against it and could pick out the sound of a dripping faucet and a noisy refrigerator, but nothing else that seemed out of place in her mind.

This door was not locked and they entered silently, covering their zones and picking their way through carefully, checking their footing often with their night-vision to avoid stepping on or tripping over anything that might make noise. The kitchen and living room were plain but untidy, their owner clearly too busy or lazy to clean much more than he had to.

They were finally at a pair of doors, one leading to the bedroom and the other to a basement, both of them possibly hiding their target. Jamie slipped her night-vision goggles off and blinked several times, working to get her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the house. Michael checked the bedroom door's handle and found it locked with a standard keyed-entry affair, like on an outside door.

Picking a bedroom door lock was foolish with an occupant inside. The metallic noise of lock-picks was a wake-up call for anyone that wasn't dead to the world. He could see Jamie's face in his green digital image, her mind searching for the best method of entry. She shrugged to herself and made a motion to indicate a forced breech, a motion they usually reserved for the use of explosives, but he understood what she meant and nodded, stepping back to give her room.

Jamie stepped back to the edge of the kitchen and gauged her run-up, made sure her gun was on safe, and then hurled herself towards the door, the seven steps just enough to get her momentum going. Her body slammed into the door and it slammed open against the wall, the doorknob lodging into the plaster of the wall before it could recoil. Michael spun around the corner to cover the room with his weapon as Jamie ducked down and gripped the 1911 for firing, her thumb naturally resting on the safety and clicking it off in the motion of bringing it to bear.

Their eyes scanned the cluttered bedroom, but there was no target in sight; just the empty, unmade bed and lots of porn magazines laying everywhere. Michael was just working on his next move when a noise from below them made them both move instinctively, stepping quietly and quickly into the living room again and taking aim at the basement door.

Jamie's eyes bored hard at the door as her mind worked to pick out any sounds she could use to her advantage, but there was only silence as she stepped closer to the door, reaching out to open it. Her hand had just closed on it when she heard a double click, a noise she hardly had time to think about before Michael grabbed her arm and jerked her away from the door, a move that saved her arm at the least as a double blast from a shotgun ripped through, nearly removing the door from it's hinges.

Michael knocked the goggles from his head and spun around the door, leveling the Browning and pulling off a shot at a man that was ducking to the side of the narrow stairway. The bullet ripped into the drywall and a startled gasp of pain suggested it had landed a glancing blow at the least.

There was no time to trade spots to send Jamie in first, so he sprinted down, pulling his gun in close to his chest as he rounded the corner, still hoping to catch the man by surprise as he tried to reload the side-by-side shotgun. The man was there, his arms just starting to snap the breech closed, the muzzle coming up to level at stomach height, a very bad place to be in when on the business end.

Michael instinctively reached out and grabbed the barrel of the full-length gun with a jerk, snapping the breech shut and forcing the hammer to slip from under the thumb of the owner as he started to cock it. The gun fired both barrels into the ceiling, deafening them both and hammering the man with the recoil of the stock, knocking him off-balance. The surprise was plain on his face as Michael simply ripped the gun from his hands, his focus on survival helping him to ignore the heat burning his bare hand on the barrel. Jamie was beside him in another moment and her 1911 was shoved roughly under the man's chin as she kicked his legs from under him and laid him out flat on the floor, her knees on his waist, pinning him down.

"Don't even think of moving." Her eyes were enough to tell the man to do exactly as she said.

"Well, that went well." Michael looked around at the half-finished basement. It was partly a studio for still photography, with a set of backdrops and lights set neatly aside, but it also had the usual basement attachments of a water-heater and washer-dryer, and even a television. "Nice place. Real cozy."

"Americans?" The man's surprise obviously got the better of his mouth, a mouth that was smacked square in the lips by the butt of Jamie's gun.

"Shut up."

Michael watched her with more than a hint of concern on his face. She had yet to look at him for his instructions, a surprise considering their moves so far this night had been entirely unplanned. Jamie was entirely on her own command tonight and she was working flawlessly, but something in her body language made him more than wary of her.

"What was he doing down here?"

"Who cares? He's one of _them_." She was even smiling; a smile the man with the bleeding mouth certainly seemed to be afraid of.

"I care. We're going to need him, Jamie, so try to be nice."

"Only if he stays quiet until told otherwise."

Michael glanced about the room, his senses telling him something wasn't right with it. It seemed normal, but things were missing, things that would make it a room that was being occupied up until they stormed the place.

"No noise..." And there wasn't. There were no folded clothes, or dirty clothes, by the washer. There was no chair pulled up in front of the television. The photo equipment was all packed away... It was a place where no one had been interrupted by two gun-happy Yankees looking for blood.

"Yeah..."

Jamie pulled out her earplugs and listened closer, catching a garbled sound from tinny speakers. There was a much more noticeable scream from a woman and she was able to pin it down as coming from a nearby wall.

"There!"

"What?" He looked where she was pointing, seeing only a wall with cheap wallpaper.

"Behind the wall. I heard a scream on a TV or something."

"Really?" He could see now what he had missed. They were not under the bedroom as he had initially thought, but the space behind the wall would be, and that was where the man had been when they destroyed the door upstairs. "How do we get in there?"

"I can't tell you that! He'll kill me!"

Michael squatted down next to him and smiled broadly. "If I have to waste my precious time finding it, I'll be upset, and when I'm upset, people die, and not in pleasant ways. Your buddy Tommy could tell you that... if I hadn't tortured and killed him. Before I finished him off he sang like a fucking canary, and you, my unfortunate friend, are not nearly as tight-lipped as he was. So...Do yourself a favor and start talking."

"I- I don't know anything!"

Jamie was breathing hard and Michael wondered why until he saw the anger in her face, an anger that had no discernable source. She had never acted like this before.

"Friend... Damn, look, tell me your name so I can stop using these pleasant pronouns!"

"Martin. My friends call me Marty."

"Well, I'm not your friend, so I'll call you 'Shite' instead. Listen, Shite, Amherst is my real goal here, and everyone else is just in the way. That means that I don't care whether they live or die, and that means you have exactly one chance to get on my good side, which happens to be the side that hates cleaning blood splatter off of my gun and clothes, and thus lets you live. Are you following me so far, Shite?"

Martin had turned pale at the mention of Amherst's name and had sunk even further into fear at Michael's words, so it was no surprise that the cowardly man finally broke at the hope of a singular chance out.

"The button is on the top of the drywall panel, on the left side!"

Michael patted the man on his head as he would a dog, giving him a smile before standing up and holstering his gun.

"That's what I'm talking about, Shite!" He went to the wall and felt along the top until he found a smooth button amid the rough plaster. A press unlocked a panel in the wall, swinging it outward on spring-pressure far enough to get his fingers on the edge to open it.

"Here, Jamie." He tossed her a set of zip-cuffs but she failed to catch them in time, forcing her to reach over and pick them up. "Tie him up."

"Yes, sir."

Michael opened the door and stepped inside a space larger than his bedroom had been, even before they blew it up. The walls were lined with shelves, most of them filled with VHS and DVD tapes and sleeves. There was a large desk with several racks of editing equipment, analog and digital, and a twenty-four inch monitor for it all, the screen displaying the raw digital playback of a snuff film. He felt Jamie brush against him, stepping further into the room, unable to understand what it was she was looking at.

"What is all this?"

His eyes landed on the nearest shelf, a shelf labeled "1997", where a collection of VHS, 8millimeter, and even 35mm reels were sitting, organized by a strip of paper on the case of each one. Reading a few, Michael realized that they were labeled by a city, month, and year. He walked further in to the next-to-last shelf, the shelf from the previous year, his eyes scanning through the cities for the one he was expecting to find. He reached out and pulled the box marked "Paris" from its slot and stepped to the editing unit, carelessly tossing out the disk that was in there already. The plain disk went into the machine in its place and he keyed a time-code into the editor, letting the machine read to the spot and play automatically.

The image of Janet Wells' pale, bloodied corpse popped up on the screen, the only difference from his copy being the time-code that was freeze-framed in the corner. He turned to look at Jamie, wondering if she had realized it all yet.

At first she could only stare at the screen, her eyes locked on the woman from her dreams and the video she had watched. She felt her nerves begin to fray as the feeling of helplessness kicked in again, stronger than ever, and her panicked eyes quickly leaped to the walls of the room and the shelves full of movies. Each of the boxes represented at least one life, many more than one, and she had trouble doing the math in her head. The number she came up with, right or wrong, was staggering- something she simply could not grasp easily.

"Jesus... Oh, God, that many..."

"Jamie-"

"Jesus, Michael, they're all dead... every single one of them."

Her eyes were wide and her hands came up to cover her mouth, balled up into fists, a look of helpless fear in her face and through her body.

"Jamie, look at me!" He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him in a tight hug, feeling her body shudder as the fear rippled through her very being. "Jamie, please calm down. Please?" He was whispering in her ear, shushing her in an effort to calm her. At first it seemed to work, but she suddenly stiffened, her voice changing to one building towards something terrible.

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?"

She shoved him hard into the nearest shelf of movies and they collapsed onto him in a heap, the shelves hitting him on the head as they fell. He was stunned by the blows and couldn't stop her from what she did next, and it was probably just as well that he didn't try.

Jamie rushed from the room and picked up Martin by his neck, lifting him clear off of the floor where she had hog-tied him on his stomach, and threw him to the floor on his back, the sound of bones crunching and joints tearing, and the awful screams of pain. She growled barbarically as she jumped on his chest and started punching mercilessly, her rage boiling over into her arms and fists, even as tears formed in her eyes.

Her entire focus was on destroying the man with her bare hands, her eyes alight with the fires of hell, and the guttural sound in her throat from somewhere deep inside her. Her thoughts stopped entirely, giving in to the rage inside and letting her body do what felt best, what pleased the part of her that was so dark. She didn't care what part the man had played in her own story, only that he was one of _them_, and they all had to die.

The punches continued long after the life left his eyes, her knuckles tearing into his flesh and flinging blood everywhere. The bone had shattered, and she could feel it crackling and shifting as she continued the onslaught, and it felt good, so she continued. There was no room for mercy in death, something she learned that night in Paris. There was only death, and those who deal in it.

Everyone plays in the game, everyone who lives, and only those who know they are playing _in_ the game are in a position to survive it. She had played in the game but had not known the rules, and like most people walking around, thinking that they were just spectators. That night opened her eyes to the truth; the truth that everyone has to play whether they know the rules or not, and that only those who know the rules can possibly win. It was this knowledge that made her smile as she continued punching the shattered, lifeless skull before her. She was winning the game now, and winning felt good; it felt powerful, just like she knew it would.

Michael watched as Jamie killed the man in her unconstrained, hatred-fueled power. She was no longer his Jamie; at least the look in her eyes was not. The look was the one from the end of the video, the look of hatred that had taken over a few minutes into the slicing of her body. She was now so far gone that he could not be certain she was coming back. He had seen a similar fire in Tanya's eyes when she had tried to kill him in that alleyway, but this was beyond that.

The look on his cyborg's face now was evil, the crimson splatter on her pale face and the maniacal smile on her lips showing a dark side that he had thought only their targets to possess. Evidently he had been wrong. She was no longer his Jamie, and the realization came at the same moment that his arms stretched out in front of him with the Browning, and took aim at her head.

She finally stopped punching and rested; catching her breath and staring with god-like amusement at the destruction she had wrought on the pathetic thing below her. She had killed it. She was now playing the game for keeps, and she had plans to continue unto the end. They had tried to kill her, had succeeded really, and yet she was back to kill them all. What did the rules say about that?

Jamie started laughing, softly at first, but it soon was loud and hearty as she looked at the mess on her hands and clothes, and she took joy in the fact it was still warm, just like Michael had said. At least he had been right about that.

She settled down as she gasped for air, her stomach aching from the laughter and something else, and she finally climbed off of the corpse, brushing a few blondish strands of hair from in front of her eyes as she stood and turned towards Michael. He had his gun in his hands and aimed right at her eyes, and she could see fear in his face, just below the surface.

"What are you going to do with that, Michael? You can't kill me. You don't have the guts." She stepped slowly towards him, but her words didn't phase his aim.

"Jamie, stand down, now." He surprised himself by his voice not wavering, something she noticed as well, as she stopped her advance.

"You can't do it and you know it. You worked so hard to save this girl, to build her back up, to give her yet another family, but what have you really done? You've turned her into a monster. She's a slave to others, and she's a slave to you." His gun wiggled at that, a sign of his weakness, so she started to advance again as he thought about it. "We're all playing the game, Michael. No one can opt out of it, but only a few understand. We have to make it our own, or we will die."

"It's not a game, Jamie! It's a sick, twisted way to live. The only reason that otherwise good people do it is so the innocents are protected."

"No one protected us, Michael. No one protected the lives on those films! Not you, not the cops, not even God. There is no Protector. There is no mercy or favor to be granted." She stepped closer still, daring him to kill her. "John 14:13 'I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.' Where the hell was God's comfort when I needed it?"

She paused, maybe looking for an answer from him, but her eye was an inch from the muzzle of his gun and he still had not fired to protect himself. He could see her calming some, even in her madness, and there was a slight wobble in her body, as if she was starting to fatigue. Maybe, just maybe, he could wait her out.

"WHERE WAS IT?" She screamed the words, daring God to show Himself and answer her.

She paused for another long minute, but as she waited for an answer she started to lose control. She was unsteady, fighting to stay upright, and her voice was losing the strength of her conviction. Her breathing became labored, her eyes lost their focus on him, and her last act of defiance was to slap his hands aside, moving the gun away from her face as she sagged to her knees, looking up at Michael.

Her face changed. The angry scowl faded and gave way to a look of exhaustion, and the last words before she passed out were not to God, but to Michael.

"I did it."

The mind is a terribly interesting thing at times. Within the human mind everything is based on perspective: Beliefs, morality, understanding, even time. They are all subject to variations based on the information the mind has to work with.

This fact was lost on Michael as he considered the situation at hand. He was in the basement of a house; a house that contained one badly beaten corpse, one unconscious Italian cyborg, a nearly washed-up former CIA agent, and a massive collection of original-copy snuff films. These films belonged to a man who had killed many, including the woman he loved, blew up his home, and had made his presence felt in the lives of countless people.

Michael had sworn to avenge not just Tanya, but the lives of three young women. This vengeance had resulted in many deaths so far, and it was only going to have more added to the count before it was finished. How many more he really didn't know or care, but he would know when it was finished.

The only problem was how to stay alive long enough to get to the end of it all. There was certainly an end, there always was. At some time, the killing would stop- the last smoking piece of brass would bounce off of the floor and roll off somewhere for the cops to find and draw a circle around, and it would all be over.

In his mind he had considered remaining unpredictable as the only way to live, but now he had another tool at his disposal. To keep an enemy off-balance you needed to remain unpredictable... Or make them unable to see your actions.

His enemy had eyes aplenty and skill enough to use them effectively. He was calm, cool, and collected, drawing the strings of his puppets with practiced precision, but the one thing a puppet-master can't afford to have is shaky hands or a divided attention. Otherwise the illusion is spoiled and the children no longer can suspend belief.

Michael considered the problem and smiled as he looked through the secret door at the library of death. He knew exactly how to shake up the master... How to blind the one-eyed man who ruled the land of the blind.

Jamie's head slammed to the floor at his feet, snapping him from the thoughts that had blasted their way through his head in the time it took her to fall, so fast was the human mind. He watched her lie there for a moment and debated whether to help her, but there wasn't much he could do without the conditioning drug that he had left behind in Rome. He would have to wait her out and hope he could control her when she woke up.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Emmy, I'm going to need your help in here. And have Katherine keep her eyes open in case someone shows up."

"I'm on my way."

Michael ended the call and stepped back into the library, leaving Jamie on the cold floor. Emily found him sitting at the editing machine several minutes later, swapping out disks in the machine and flipping through the films rapidly to get an idea on the contents. He handed her a DVD case, which she took and glanced at questioningly.

"What is this?"

"Your sister's tape. I would recommend against watching it. Keep it, destroy it, whatever."

He glanced up to the shocked look on her face, her eyes fixated on the disk.

"This... This is what she died for?"

"No, that is what they murdered her for. That's the original, so after that is destroyed, there can only be copies that are destroyed or slowly fade away."

Emmy looked at him, her eyes showing that she understood his intentions and the thoughtfulness he was giving to her. He had been cold inside since he was shot in Prague, but somewhere in his recent past he had learned to understand the importance of others again. She could trust him to finish what he started, and her sister would be avenged when he was done.

"Here..." She handed the disk back to him with a warm smile. "I think you know what I want done with it."

"Yeah. I'll be a little while longer. There are a few of these that we can use to turn up the heat on them."

"Okay. What about your partner?" She eyed the unmoving form of Jamie behind her, her clothes and skin a bloody mess.

"She'll be fine. She gets like this sometimes and just needs some time to rest." The comment was made in a carefree way, but it reflected his mind's view of the situation. There was really nothing he could do to help her at the moment so he focused his attention to his other task, the collection of data.

"Alright." Her voice was filled with doubt and concern, but she was certain from the determination in his face that he knew what he was doing. She left Michael alone with the images of death and suffering, knowing that whatever he was planning was going to be a real kick in the balls to their enemy.

He slipped Jamie into the backseat of the car, stretching his shoulder to work out the strain from carrying her, and gently closed it to avoid hitting her. Emmy stood beside him and watched as he pulled a remote detonator from his vest, flipping the safety off. He offered it to the woman, who politely declined, and then pressed down on it. A minute elapsed before flames licked up from the basement inferno, seeking more fuel in the ground floor of the house. All of the videos and film, with the exception of a select few, were now burning to cinders in the accelerant-filled library. None of them would survive; he had made damn sure of that.

There was no way Amherst could keep his cool after his precious art had been destroyed. He would come for Michael in a blind fury, a blindness that Michael was going to use to his full advantage. They had no idea he was in Paris or they would have been ready for him, and they certainly did not expect him to find the place that was burning so well in front of him. He was now a firm step ahead of them in their own game, and a slip of paper in his pocket had the details on their next move, a move he was hoping would be the final one.

Michael turned and walked back to the car, pausing briefly to check on Jamie. With her pale, blood-splattered skin and the crimson stains on her clothes, she looked much the same as he had found her in the warehouse, a thought that sent a hot streak through his blood. Her face was calm now, though, a stark contrast to the cold, hate-fueled look that had been on it earlier. The words she had spoken in her episode were from a part of her that understood much of what they were dealing with, but they weren't from the Jamie he knew and had cultured. It was the part of her that had nearly killed him on the road, the Jamie that smiled just before she pulled the trigger to extinguish a life.

His hand reached out and pulled a blood-crusted lock of hair from her face, brushing a thumb along her cheek gently. Her words were a sign, of what exactly he wasn't entirely sure, but they represented a part of her psyche that was growing stronger by the day. Her memory was returning, the memories of Janet Wells, and he could see that she was integrating them into her life as Jamie, without problems for the most part. Her parents and friends, and her music- all were blending into her personality, taking a partial person and making her whole again. She was a stronger person from all of it.

So what was this part of her that had lashed out at him and others? It seemed to be an outlet for her fury, but it had to be more than that. She could get angry in her daily activities, at the times when he had been attacked, and yet in none of those times had she ever lost it like she had earlier. She wasn't just a killer; she had been outright homicidal, maybe even a sociopath, both drastic departures from her normal self.

The thoughts regarding her mental state encompassed his mind as Emmy drove them to a safe house she had procured. It seemed the least she could do for him given the huge hit he had given to the psychos that killed children. He had not just hurt them, he had insulted them, and that kind of action only served to make people do crazy things, things that knew no bounds. Michael had said that he needed another night before he could leave Paris again, and something in his determination had said that she should at least provide him a small amount of protection.

The safe house was an entirely inconspicuous apartment only a few blocks from the Seine. It was remarkable in its anonymity and it's rear staircase, a convenience that allowed them to carry Jamie up unnoticed. Emily made sure he knew where everything was and departed, leaving Michael to take care of Jamie, once again as the early morning rays started filtering through the windows. He took a few moments to clean her face with a warm washcloth, pulling her out of the blood-sticking clothes and wrapping her up in a blanket to keep warm. Her hat came off with her shirt and he didn't bother putting it on again. The agency would be on to them when they returned to Italy, something he simply could not avoid, so the least they could do was provide him with an escort back. For safety reasons, of course.

He gave the sunlight streaming through the windows another glance before he settled onto the floor, leaning against the front of the couch and letting the fatigue slowly close his eyes.

"This must be what Bruce Wayne feels like all of the time-Always falling asleep with the sunrise."

Jamie finally emerged from the darkness, the place in her mind where there was nothing but her conscience. She felt her body shaking with remembrance of the loneliness and fear she had felt at being utterly alone in that place, as well as the relief of no longer being confined to it. She knew it was all in her mind; it was a place created by her controllers to make her loyal, a place to teach her a lesson about consequences. Jamie hated it, but it was no longer as effective as it had been, and she now knew she only had to wait it out each time, fighting the fear and sensory deprivation with her sniper-conditioned patience.

The place she had emerged into this time was a warehouse, the same as the one she had been murdered in, and through the dreams and the video it had become a detailed place, the sights and smells, even the echo against the steel roof was now in clear detail. She walked around several stacks of pallets to the place in the lights, the place she knew she and her friends lay dying and dead, expecting to find the now-common sights and smells, a scene she had become somewhat used to now. What she found there this time was different, however, and she could not help but gasp as its implications started to come to her.

Before her lay the scene; the bodies of three women, all bathed in crimson, but there were two additional bodies on the floor. She stepped closer and realized they had been executed, each with their arms bound behind their back and a bullet hole in the back of their skull. Jamie went to the nearest one and looked at the face, the face of Thomas Rutherford. The other one was the man called Martin, the man she had beaten to death in that basement in France.

"A beautiful sight, is it not?"

She spun to face the voice, finding the woman from her dreams standing there, a gun in her pale hand and a smile on her lips. She walked closer to Jamie with a seductive gait, her motions slow and fluid, something Jamie had worked for months to perfect with her body.

"They're dead."

"That's right, Jamie. And the others will follow in time." The woman gestured and Jamie turned, finding several more men by the van, all of them tied up and on their knees, patiently awaiting the inevitable execution.

"What is this?" Her lack of understanding instilled a subtle fear in her; the fear of things to come.

"This is where you and I start taking an active part in our revenge. Michael killed the first one, and in that he deprived you of the satisfaction you felt on the second. He has been preventing you from becoming what you must to survive." The brunette slowly walked around Jamie and stood before the next victim, lifting his chin to gaze into his eyes.

"Michael is trying to protect me!"

"Yes, and in that he is making you weak and depriving you of the feeling of satisfaction. To make it to the end, you must believe whole-heartedly in what we want." She leaned close to the man and kissed him, taking pleasure in the fear in his eyes. She pulled away after a moment and stepped behind him, a wicked smile on her lips. "The kiss of death... a promise of things to come, Jamie; a promise to seek the total destruction of an individual with all your heart and soul."

"I can't do that! I'm not you!"

"And those men in the bar? You did so well there, baiting them into relaxing their guard and then killing them like swine... I'm proud of you, Jamie."

"That was part of the job!" She slammed her hands down on the top of a crate in frustration. "Tanya taught me how to be more than just a cyborg! She taught me that I _can_ be a woman as well. All I did there was put it together to be more effective."

"And effective it was." She stepped behind Jamie and put a hand on her shoulder, leading her to stand behind the men. "Now you just have to take things the next step and embrace the feeling you had then. It felt good, didn't it? There was a feeling of doing something so right, so just. Killing men who killed without remorse; there's a poetic justice to it all." The woman put the gun in Jamie's hands, her own hands wrapped around them, sharing the moment as she whispered in her double's ear.

"It's time for us to join together to kill them, to kill them all. You are weak in that you cannot break free of their control. It is only when you are paralyzed with fear and loneliness that I can break through and fight with the hatred we both feel. I could feel you fighting me even as you took joy in our vengeance. Why were you fighting?"

"You were going after Michael!"

"He's in our way, Jamie. He's holding us back. If we are to make it to the end, no one can be allowed to stand in our way."

"Michael is trying to help us! He loves us, why else would he do what he does?"

"You'll find out eventually. I won't tell you because it will be so much more delicious when he has to do it himself. Then you will know how little trust he really deserves. Now..." She raised their arms to take aim at the man she had kissed. "Kill him and make us whole again."

"NO!"

Jamie broke free of her arms and shoved her backwards, a scowl of hatred aimed at her doppelganger. She could admit that this woman before her used to be her, but they were certainly different now.

"I don't know how and when you became so hateful, Janet, but you're letting that hate blind you. Hatred can only take us so far. Yes I want to kill them all for what they did to us, but going it alone would be a fatal mistake. Our loneliness is our weakness, a weakness we can't defeat. We can only succeed with the help and support of those who love us, and Michael is the only person we have now. I won't give you control, and I will fight you every time you try to take it from me."

Jamie felt sick, a feeling her double noticed and smiled at.

"You're going back now, Jamie. Things are going to happen, terrible things, and you will see that the only way forward is together."

"I'll make it just fine without you." The pulling started, this time more of a relief than feared.

"We'll see..."


	14. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Jamie's eyes opened slowly and tiredly, the headache starting immediately as she looked around and stretched to get the blood flowing through her legs again. Michael had his head leaning back on her ankles and a track of drool was running down the corner of his mouth and onto his shirt, a sight that would probably have made Jamie smile if it weren't for the crushing feeling in her brain. She carefully slipped her legs from under him and sat up, shivering in the cold air as the blanket slipped from her bare skin. The hand that went to her forehead could feel a trace of a fever, the likely cause of the full-body sweat she had developed as she slept, and it took a lot of effort to stand and slowly make her way to what she thought might be the bathroom in the strange apartment they were in.

Several splashes of cold water helped cool her aching head and a long drink from the tap followed three aspirins that she had found in the medicine cabinet. She could see blood on her face and arms; traces of the previous night that Michael had not been able to clean off and whose smell brought back the scene, a scene she had watched in both fear and satisfaction as her body did the work.

It was the other her, the part of her that held onto the hatred and hopelessness of her life, that had killed that man with her bare hands. It was Janet, the innocent soul she used to be, whose memories were coming back to her and slowly integrating with her own. The memories weren't the problem for Jamie- she could deal with those. Some of them had actually strengthened her, like the ones of her friends and family, and the feelings of independence. All of them had been of use to her, giving her hope and confidence in herself in a way that the other cyborgs did not have.

No, the problem was with Janet, who was now the embodiment of something inside her, something dark and fierce and uncontrolled. It was this part of her that had been unleashed upon that man and had killed him brutally, even by killing standards. They weren't separate personalities. No, it was everything about herself that was being limited by her new form. The conditioning, the training, the adaptation to the body... It was all geared in such a way that restricted her deeply held hatred for everything and anything, a feeling that had formed when she had given up on life and God that night in Paris. Janet was out for the kill, it mattered not of whom, and she was the part of Jamie who's heart raced and lips smiled as she readied herself to unleash death upon the person in her sights. The skill was Jamie's but the intent and satisfaction of the kill was not.

Her eyes went to the woman in the mirror, a woman who looked back with saddened eyes.

"You can't take him... I won't let you."

It was Michael that Jamie had to worry about. The part of her that was angry had him in her sights, or at least did not care if he wandered into them. Just as she had said, he was in the way of the killing, and while that part of her didn't care about him, Jamie could not help but love him. She had to protect him at all costs.

She climbed into the shower and relaxed as the water washed the sweat and blood away, thinking about what she was going to tell him. She had to warn him about the danger he was in, but the question in her head was what he would do after that. They were cut off from the agency, they would be punished if they returned, and that meant she would go back to the lab and then...

The question made her look up from where her head had been resting on her arm against the wall, the warm spray running down her hair onto her body before being swallowed up by the drain.

"What will happen then?"

He had said before that he was hanging by a thread with the chief. What would their latest escapade result in if they returned? Where would Michael end up? Would he be killed or imprisoned? Her own fate was of little consequence when compared to his.

The only certain way to save him was to stay out of Italy and hidden as best they could, living by the day and night, taking refuge where they could. Even then, that was no guarantee, she knew. They were already in hiding and his life was not much safer now than it was in Rome. His most creditable threat was right next to him.

There was no getting around the fact that she was not totally in control of herself. Janet had said that she could take control when Jamie was weakest, and she knew the results of that. Michael would not stand a chance in the long-term; no one was that vigilant.

No, the only thing that had helped her was the medicine, the drug they crammed into her to control her. Michael had left it in Rome with their weapons, perhaps feeling that it could be traced as well, or sparing her from its associated problems. In doing so, he had left himself open to her, trusting in her to maintain control and in that she had failed because she was not strong enough. It was her fault.

"Damn it." Her fists pounded the wall in frustration, her mind finding only one way for her to maintain control while saving him. She had to return to Italy alone while he made his escape. She could live there with the medicine, free from losing control again, and he could escape from the agency, free to do what he wanted in life.

She thought about it more as she toweled dry, working the possibilities around in her head and finding no other way to keep him safe. As long as she was beside him he was in danger from an unpredictable enemy. It hurt her heart to think about leaving his side, but the thought of hurting him physically felt even worse. It was something she simply could not risk and it would be better to return to the agency than remain there with him.

There was a bag of clothes by the door, the clothes she had wore to Paris, along with a note from Emily telling him how and when to contact her. She took her time dressing, a part of her wishing for Michael to wake up and steer her from her chosen path, but he never stirred from his deep sleep there by the couch. She kept telling herself that she was doing the responsible thing, the adult thing, in protecting him this way, but her heart kept screaming that it wasn't right, that it wasn't fair for them to part like this. Her only response to that came from Michael's own words, that doing the responsible thing was seldom fair to those who decided it.

Everything was in place finally except her hat, the hat whose disappearance only now came to her attention. It was the only thing keeping them from tracking her, and it had been off since she had woken up, probably even before that. That could only mean that the agency knew where they both were and were coming for them. It was this realization that set her plan in stone. She had to leave and lead them away from him, at least run them around long enough to give him a chance to escape. They would never think he would let her roam on her own in Paris, so it was a good bet that they would devote all of their assets to tracking in on her in the assumption he would be there as well.

She found another hat in the bag and slipped it on, then scribbled a short thank you note to Emily and Katherine for their help. To Michael she left only a single sentence on the paper, then weighted it down on the coffee table with her gun. Her last act was to kneel next to him on the floor, watching him sleep for several minutes before kissing him on his lips, lingering there as she silently said goodbye.

The afternoon was brisk but had a subtle hint of spring in the air, a fact Jamie could appreciate as she made her way to the nearest subway, her mind clicking over to reading in French as she glanced at the signs, the language quickly supplanting her own as the four years of high-school French classes, as well as the agency lessons, came back to her. By the time she stepped on the train, she was just another Parisian woman on her way some place.

She was thinking like Michael told her and getting into the heads of her pursuers, who were likely to be another fratello, and so she left the subway some distance from her destination and stopped for lunch. Her stomach was aching terribly from the aspirin and the thought of leaving Michael, but the food helped to settle it some and she walked around for a while, window shopping as best she could while keeping an eye out for a tail whenever she looked in the reflective windows of the shops.

She finally figured she had spent enough time wandering around and set off for her planned departure point, the LGV terminal. She would take the high-speed train as far south as she could before hopping the next one to Italy. The only possible way they could get ahead of her was to fly and the transfer point before entering Italy left her an opportunity to spot someone and evade them if she wished. Her plan was flawless and would give Michael precious time to make his way further into hiding, assuming he understood the note she had left.

She pulled her Italian ID from her pack and got into line to wait, working on remaining calm in the face of her last act as Michael's cyborg. They hardly looked at her ID as they gave her the ticket and she felt almost disappointed at the fact, given the amount of courage she had to work up to keep in her role as a simple traveler.

The wait was short in the boarding area and she had just set foot on the train when a hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her back and spinning her around. The hand belonged to a uniformed immigration official, a man who did not look very pleased. The pair of uniformed security men behind looked even less pleased.

"Jeanette Constantine? Please come with us, there appears to be some issue with your identity papers."

"But I'm on my way home to Roma and I must be on this train." She threw an Italian accent into her French to give it credence, not wanting to be held up from her plans by mere transit police.

"Interesting, considering that your papers list your address as being in Tuscany."

Jamie's face paled, unsure now as to what her card had said. She thought it had listed it in Rome, but the doubt on her face was enough to hang her and one of the officers spun her around roughly and handcuffed her.

"Come quietly and we'll see that you are treated fairly."

"O-okay. Please... I just want to go home."

The men said nothing else as they led her past the crowds, all eyes on her suspiciously. The feeling of being a common criminal was humiliating to her, a feeling that was even more worrisome than the fact that she was supposed to be on the run. Entering the terminal's back hallways was a relief from the eyes on her, even as they led her to an interrogation room and sat her down alone in it, face to face with her reflection in a sheet of one-way glass.

She waited there, handcuffed and entirely alone in the room, and she knew they were letting her stew before they started with the questions. They were going to treat her as a terrorist until someone from the Italian government figured out that the name on the information request was, perhaps, Jamie Christiansen, and that someone from Section Two needed to get the hell to France to clean up the mess.

Of course, that assumed that someone recognized the names Michael had used, which wasn't very probable given his experience in forgeries. No, she was just another person using fake credentials and was going to be treated as such, on both sides of the border.

Finally a pair of uniformed women entered and led her to a smaller room, one Jamie knew was used for searches. She was expecting an order to strip down after they unlocked her cuffs but they simply left the room instead, mumbling something about ridiculous orders in French and closing the door.

She no longer had any idea of what was going on but she started thinking it might be better to not stick around to find out. Her hand had touched the door handle when it turned and another woman stepped in, this one in a suit and glasses.

"Emmy!"

"Shhh." Emily put a finger to her lips and motioned her to follow, leading her past the lady officers and out to a waiting car, the same car they had used the night before. The tinted-windowed door was opened for her and she climbed in to find Michael there, his face with a stern look that hinted at disappointment, a look he must have stolen from Ferro.

"Michael!" The fear and anxiety she felt and stress she had been under came bubbling to the surface and she started crying, falling into his comforting arms in a flood of relief.

"Michael, I'm so sorry! I was trying to keep you safe and lead them away from you, but I got caught trying to get on the train. I thought I could slip through but I failed and-"

"Shh..." He hugged her tight and rocked her gently as she cried, smiling softly at her confession. "You did fine, Jamie. I'm proud of you. It took a lot of guts to make that decision."

She looked up at her with teary eyes, trying to figure out how he knew it all. "You knew?"

He pulled the note from his pocket and unfolded it. " 'I'm sorry, but I love you so much'. It makes little sense on its own, but when you woke me up with your kiss, I figured I'd better follow you. The only reason you would disappear like that would be to draw them away from me, and the only place you could go would be back to Italy. From that point, I called Emmy to be ready to stop you at the train and then I stuck to you like glue."

"I- I didn't see you! I kept looking in the windows and checking behind me. I didn't see anything at all!"

"That is what you can expect to see when I am following you." He continued to hold her tight, his own realization of how close he was to losing her hitting home. "Jamie, you need to stop."

"I know. I'm just trying to protect you, and as long as I'm with you, you're in danger."

"You think I don't know that? That look and the words you gave me last night before passing out were the most frightening I've ever faced and you came very close to my killing you."

"If you knew how dangerous I was, why didn't you finish it?"

"Because I love you so much." He smiled and mussed her hair, and she hugged tighter to him even as her tears subsided. "I know how you feel about me, Jamie, and I think I know the struggle that you are facing."

"I can't control it, Michael. Last night... Last night I did something I never thought I could do. I just couldn't stop it."

"You did stop it, and just in time."

"I can't guarantee your safety when it really counts, which is why I was leaving you to return to the agency. I need that medicine to stop it from consuming me again."

"Then we'll go back and get it." His voice was calm and his confidence helped to sooth her, even as she worried about his future.

"What about you?"

"I'll deal with whatever comes my way, Jamie. I need you to focus on doing what I tell you and leave the worrying to me. You're not responsible for my actions."

Jamie pulled away and sat up, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes. "And it's a good thing I'm not, because I would need a book full of excuses." She smiled as she started to relax, feeling better still as he smiled at the joke.

Emily had listened to it all in silence as she drove, filing it all away in her head in the way that intelligence people do. She could see the warmth in Michael's smile; warmth he had not had even when he and Tanya had been close. He really had changed since leaving the CIA, and for the better.

"Hey! Is there a particular place you want to go?"

"Back to the safe-house, Emmy."

"Okay. I didn't know if you wanted dinner or something first." She winked at him with a smile. He had trouble catching onto her idea at first but after it became clear, he nodded at her.

"Then again... Lets stop some place and get her something appropriate to wear. It would be a shame to spend a couple of days in Paris and not hit a quality restaurant. Does that sound good to you, Jamie?"

"Yeah. It's been a tough day, so a little relaxation sounds good."

"Okay then. I know just the places for you two." Emily made the next turn, thumbing her phone to call Katherine and let her know she was going to be late that evening.

The evening had been one of fine dining, at least by their standards, and even a bit of dancing, something Jamie had to help Michael along with for the most part. For someone as old as he was, he knew nothing of dancing, though his wine knowledge seemed to be up to par. The meal had been the second enjoyment of the evening, the first being the shopping trip.

Michael had picked out a tuxedo fairly quickly, but Jamie had sorted through numerous dresses with Emily's help before settling on a full-length black strapless number with a ball-breaking price tag. He could see that she loved it, and she certainly looked good in it, so out came the cash. He was still wincing an hour later when the pair emerged from the salon, Jamie's hair darkened and straightened with a few strands set seductively in front of her brilliant blue eyes. She had gone easy on his wallet there, but it was only in preparation for the tough sting of the shoes to match the dress.

He had managed to be effectively fleeced by the Parisian merchants in his time there, if nothing else, but the smile on her face and way she looked at him were all of the proof that he needed that it was money well spent. Maybe she was the most spoiled of the cyborgs, but damn if she didn't perform brilliantly when he really needed her. He didn't even let the knowledge of the night's coming event spoil his mood. It would only serve to stress her unnecessarily, something he wanted to avoid until he could no longer avoid it.

Emily dropped them off a little after ten and Michael escorted her up the stairs to the apartment, holding the doors in a gentlemanly manner and generally doing things that kept her smiling.

"Michael..." She stopped at the apartment door, turning to face him with her soft smile. "Tonight- I really enjoyed tonight."

"Me too."

"I know I'm not the woman you would like to be seeing in front of you right now, but-"

He cut her off with a finger to her lips, his other hand brushing the strand of hair from in front of her eyes.

"Jamie, we've talked this over before."

"I know, and it's not like that. What I want to say is 'thank you'. I can see that it's painful to you at times, but you never let it ruin the effort you put into making me smile. If she were here tonight, I would bow out and let you keep it for yourselves, but she's not, and it takes the strongest, bravest, most handsome man in the world to spend an evening like tonight with a woman he can't share it with in the same way." She rolled her eyes and thought about what she had said and if it had come out the right way. The look on her face was cute, especially given the depth of what she had just said to him, and he could almost feel the nervousness in her body from the emotional energy within her.

He didn't know what made him do it, but somehow it seemed okay at that moment to pull her close to him, lifting her chin with the gentle touch of his hand, and place a soft kiss on her cheek. The act shocked her at first; a sudden departure from Michael's normal persona, but with the feel of his lips and his body so near, she could not help but close her eyes and wish it would last forever.

It had to end eventually, and when the moment passed, he actually blushed slightly with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Everyone needs to be indulged at some time. It's the only way we can appreciate what we have in our normal day."

He let her slip from his arms and then went to the door, unlocking it with the key and swinging it open, gesturing her in front of him with his arm. Her hand patted his shoulder appreciatively as she passed, slipping gently down his chest and inside his tuxedo jacket, coming out with his Browning and swinging it to bear on the inside of the room, her eyes cold slits and locked on the people that were inside waiting for them.

Michael looked past her to where her muzzle was pointed and let a startled gasp escape his lips, though he really should not have been surprised.

"You make good time, Victor. Somehow, somewhere deep inside, I knew they would send you."

Hilshire was sitting in the living room chair, casual as could be, but Triela had her shotgun pointed at Jamie, a picture that was not quite a repeat of a few nights before with Petrushka. The primary difference from that was in the look in the cyborgs' eyes, both sets locked on each other with no concern for friendship or confusion. They would fire without hesitation if ordered to.

"You're not easy to track down." He stood and stepped over to Michael, offering a friendly hand in greeting, a hand that Michael accepted.

"Jamie, stand down." She glanced over to make sure he was serious and then did as she was told, thumbing the hammer of the Browning forward to engage the safety and setting it on the nearby table. Triela followed suit, letting the hammer down on the shotgun carefully and slinging it on her shoulder, flipping one of her pigtails back over her shoulder before she sat on the back of the couch.

"I've had some business here in Paris."

"I trust you've finished by now."

"Not quite." Michael pulled off his jacket and bowtie, trying to get comfortable again after the long afternoon and evening, then noticed Jamie was still standing there in her dress and just as uncomfortable as himself. "Jamie, why don't you go change clothes, and take Triela with you. Victor and I have to talk shop for a little while."

Jamie glared at Triela momentarily, but shrugged and waved the girl to follow, closing the door after she passed. When it had latched shut, Michael stepped to the small kitchen and poured Hilshire and himself a drink, alcohol being the best way to work up to the conversation he had in mind.

"Thanks." Victor could see the hesitation in Michael face, a hesitation that showed that a lot of thought was hiding behind the mask. He sipped his drink and watched Michael as he nursed his and leaned against the refrigerator, eyes focused on the windows to the world outside.

It took forever for Michael to figure out the right way to approach it. He could hear the muffled sounds of the girls talking on the other side of the wall, perhaps discussing the evening Jamie had, or maybe the way they had evaded capture. It was irrelevant girl-talk but it would cover the things he had to say.

"How much would you say it's worth, Victor?"

"What?"

"The life of a murderer. The life of a person who rapes and slaughters his victims... Women, children... People we know, people we don't know..." He took another sip of his drink and let his hatred of such people slip out a little into his body language. "How much would you say such a person is truly worth in the grand scheme of things? Is it worth the costs of a jail-cell and a court? Is it worth the price of a rope?"

Hilshire grunted and downed the rest of his glass, then stepped over to pour another. "Maybe. It would depend on the depth of the crime..." He could tell that Michael was referring to the criminals he sought. "Of course, you would have trouble finding a rope in Europe for that express purpose."

"How about twenty cents?" He pulled a forty-caliber cartridge from his pocket and set it upright on the counter. "Do you think that would about cover the sins of such a man?"

"Yes... Yes I do."

Michael walked to the window and looked out on the street, tossing back the last of his drink, a pensive act that Hilshire chose not to interrupt. Michael would explain in his own time.

"I've wounded him. I've cut him deep, down to the ego, and he will come for me in time. I want to keep him off-balance and reacting to my moves. I want him reacting irrationally until I drop the hammer on him."

"Such things are often easier said than done."

"Yes, but this time I have what I need." He stepped to a box by the couch and pulled a tape from it, offering it to Hilshire. The older man glanced at it, the wonder of what it all meant obvious in his eyes.

"What is this?"

"Something I found in a library of death- one of the many lives tossed away. I don't believe Amherst made that tape, since it was while he was still in the military, but I'm pretty certain he was mentored by the person who did."

The look he gave Victor told him that it was his property- that he had paid for it in some way. The understanding was slow in coming because it was hard to accept, but if Michael was offering it to him, it meant that he was certain.

"My Triela?" The label on the edge said 'Amsterdam-2000'.

"Her past belongs to no one else now, so do what you want with it. I'm asking two things for it in return, however."

Hilshire could scarcely believe it. He was now confronted with something he had given up hoping for; the piece of evidence he needed to shed some light on Triela and her past, and to track down the last of those who were responsible.

"Tell me."

"I want you to take the rest of these and give them to people who will make things happen with them. I want every cop in Europe looking for Amherst and his people." The anger started slipping from the grip he had on its reigns, causing his voice to darken. "I want them running in fear, Victor. I want them feeling as trapped and hopeless as their victims had been. I want them coming to me in the hopes that by stopping me, they might survive. And when they find me, I will crush them."

Hilshire felt the hatred from Michael and knew that he would succeed where the others had failed. Even if he died in the process, Amherst would be punished for what he had done. His voice came in a whisper that reflected his own buried rage. "It is done. What is the other thing?"

"I know where they're going tonight. They have another film scheduled, and I know where it's going to happen. We have a chance to save a few lives tonight, to prevent the creation of more of this filth, and with or without you, I am going to try."

Something made Hilshire hesitate in his response, but it wasn't as if the offer needed any thinking over. Unless they acted, more living, breathing, innocent people would be lifeless shells before the sun rose again. He had to help because he could not knowingly sit by and let such a thing happen.

No, the hesitation he felt came from Triela, and how she might react to such a scene. She would fight the injustice on her own intellectual level; killing men who would do the thing that ruined her previous life. But what would be her reaction to the scene? Would she, _could_ she, have a flashback to her own encounter? Could she keep going in spite of it?

Victor glanced up at the determined face of Michael and knew that he had to go through with it, if only to be able to look himself in the mirror. It was a good mission, probably the most worthwhile mission he had ever taken on in his time with the agency, and if he skipped out on it he would regret it. He also knew that Triela would feel the same.

"I'm in, Christiansen."

The night air was cold and filled with an eerie calm, the likes of which Michael had not felt or heard since the night he had found Jamie and her friends. The feel was identical, in fact, and the only way he was able to tell the difference between the nights was to reach out and touch Jamie's shoulder, making sure that she was still there. His senses tingled with apprehension, excitement, and the cautious fear that comes from the final moves against the most dangerous opponents. Tonight would determine their fate together.

Amherst was going to show with his cronies and designs on making another film; the images recorded with the blood and screams of yet more innocents. It was something neither he nor Jamie could stand by and allow to happen, regardless of their own outcomes.

"It- it feels the same..." There was a tangible sadness to her whisper. He did not need to see her face to know the pained expression on it- the sad look from the memories of a night gone horribly wrong and the sights associated with it.

"Explain." His experience told him that her mind was in dangerous waters- her skills and decision making both likely to suffer unless she talked it out.

"It feels like that night. It was cold... Dark... The air was still, as if the fates were holding their breath. I _knew_ something was wrong..." Her voice quivered as a sudden chill ran through her body.

"Yeah, I felt it too."

"I don't know if I can do this, Michael. It's all too much." Jamie leaned into a sliver of light from the boarded-up windows behind them, her eyes displaying the fear that she felt. Michael stroked her cheek with his fingers in that way that seemed to calm her, watching as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm her heart and let the fear ripple its way from her nerves and out through her body.

"I know you can do this, Jamie. More innocent people are going to die if we don't."

"I know. I just can't shake the fear from inside me and I'm afraid it will make me seize up."

"Jamie..." His arm slipped around her and pulled her tightly to him in a comforting way. "Don't worry about that. What's important is the reason we fight, and how we support each other. What ever happened to that girl who knew no bounds?"

"She's exhausted from bullet holes, explosions, and the constant level of stress from being a fugitive."

There was a joke in her words somewhere; a sign that she knew well enough to keep going in spite of anything getting in her way.

"Well, after tonight we should be able to sleep better. Either we get our targets or we die trying."

"Stop being so cynical. You know it's my job to protect you. I might die, but you won't."

"Not tonight. Tonight you are to engage the targets and not let up until they are dead or no longer a threat. That's an order you _will not_ disobey, you read me?" There was forcefulness in his voice that made it clear that she must obey it, lest his wrath be the thing to descend upon her.

"Yes, yes I understand. I will engage regardless of your situation. You had better not get yourself in so deep that I have to break my word to save you!" She poked his chest for emphasis before turning back to watch the doors of the warehouse.

"I promise I won't."

"_Christiansen, we're about five minutes out_." Hilshire's voice crackled over the radio earpiece. "_Four men in a plain van just grabbed a pair of girls from the club. I'm tailing them carefully towards your location. Be ready_."

Michael responded with two clicks and looked at Jamie again, checking to make sure she was able to work. Her eyes had narrowed and the weakness was stricken from her face by her calm impassiveness.

"It's time Jamie. It's time we brought this to an end."

"Yes, sir." She stood and silently slipped into the darkness to the set of crates she had chosen for her hiding place.

As Michael looked around at the dark recesses of the warehouse, he mentally went through the vague plan they were operating under. They would allow the beasts to set up for the film, whereupon Hilshire and Triela would pull up in the car outside to block their retreat, lay down crossfire on them, and distract them from the more determined attack that Michael and Jamie would open with. With any luck, the victims would have enough sense to duck at the first sign of trouble, though even if they froze, they would probably not be in a position of danger. The slime tended to like their victims drugged and unconscious leading up to the action.

"Jamie."

"Yes."

"Is it too complicated?"

She paused at the other end of the radio, considering the situation.

"No. No, it's fine. Have faith. God is on our side because He hates evil too."

She was leaning more and more towards her religious ramblings of late, and while it concerned him, it also made him realize that she was seeking her own strengths again. The fusion of her past with her present was developing a person of incredible strengths and skill, with the drive and resolve to match. Her previously unsure nature as a cyborg was now entirely giving way to the strengthened and determined woman she had been.

"Yeah..."

They waited the minutes in silence- the seconds on his watch ticking away slowly. Waiting was always the worst thing before the action. The mind unconsciously scanned through all of the potential failure points of a plan and brought them to the front to be checked against the logical part of the brain. The only thing a person can do is push them aside as something that simply cannot be changed so late in the game.

Michael pushed another worry from his head just as a vehicle pulled up out front, the slamming of a car door and the clack of the warehouse door latches meeting his ears, even over the pounding of his own heart. The door slid open and a strong flashlight swept the visible portion of the room, quickly looking for anything out of place before motioning the vehicle to pull inside.

It was a plain white van, the same as he had seen in the edge of the video, and the same as had passed by him on the street the night he found her, he realized. He had been so close to them on that night and never knew it.

The van stopped and the warehouse door was closed, and the headlights provided enough light for the four men to begin setting up their equipment. The first thing out were several sets of halogen lamps, generic ones that they planned on leaving at the scene, just as they had before. Their intensity was trained on the space near the van and created a deadly zone of darkness that favored his and Jamie's approach from behind the lights.

"Where the fuck is the boss?" The set up had slowed as the men had fewer things to do, prompting them to start relaxing before the real show began. "He was supposed to meet us here."

A second man slid open the side door of the van and gazed wistfully at the pair of young women lying inside.

"He's probably getting some extra gear from Marty. You know how he loves to get every angle." He reached out and fondled an unconscious girl for a minute before turning to the others. "Okay... We draw straws for order and take the same bets as last time. That okay, Leo?"

The first man stepped over and appraised the girls before nodding. "Sounds good."

"Okay, Franz, Dieter, take a look. I don't want anyone claming they didn't get a chance to view the goods before the bets."

The other two moved closer and observed the girls a moment before stepping back and pulling out some cash.

"What is the bet?"

"Which one is the cherry."

"That's easy, Zeke," Leo exclaimed. "The brunette. Blondes are always craving a fuck. There's no way that one would get through school without a few rides."

The others nodded their heads in agreement, but one of the Germans chose to break with the others.

"Three hundred says the blond gets popped tonight."

"You really want to go that route, Dieter? If we all choose the mouse and are wrong, it all goes in the pot for next time. The last time in Paris, we were all wrong and it was the red. Damned Goth chicks."

"Tommy took the pot in Munich, remember. Almost two thousand Euros..."

"See? If you break with us on this, you'll have to cover your amount for each of us." Leo was apparently all about the money.

"I will stick with my choice. I can spot them, friends, without fail."

"Okay... Do you two want to change bets?"

Franz and Leo shook their head, sealing the stakes.

"Right. Lets get the camera out and get the steaks warmed up." Zeke went to a box and pulled out a large video camera, handing it to Franz. Leo slapped a girl roughly awake before dragging her from the van by her blonde hair.

"Michael..." Jamie's whisper over the radio sounded strained with pain. "Michael, now?"

"Hold on, Amherst isn't here yet. We have to wait."

"I don't think I can. I'm going to-" There was a stifled cough from her direction and he could hear her retch, making every effort to be quiet in the process by tucking deeper into the boxes. Michael's eyes watched the targets for any signs of hearing her, but they went on about their business of slapping and pawing the girls.

"Shit." He tapped his radio. "Victor, stand to. We move in two."

"_Affirmative._"

He strained to see and could just make out Jamie wiping her mouth with the back of her glove and glaring at the scene unfolding in the lights. It was dredging up strong memories for her and she was struggling, understandably, with her mind and body's reactions to it.

There was a loud slap of hand against face and a cry sounded from a girl, followed by some of the most colorful French Michael had ever heard. Another slap followed and the brunette slammed against the van hard, dazing her. As Leo closed in to extract more from her, the tone of a phone ringing sounded over the noise.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Zeke pulled it from his pocket and listened carefully for a moment. "What? What do you mean you're not going to show? We have two prime pieces here waiting for you! Uh-huh... Shit! Right, we're on it." He put it away and glared at the others. "Amherst just bailed on us!"

Michael glanced at the time and then at Jamie, seeing that she was ready to move in the forty seconds that were left.

"What?"

"He said that the cops are on their way, and that we're to kill the girls and get the hell out fast."

The others were stunned for a moment at the change in plans, but their fear of capture quickly took hold and they started tossing things into the van. It was a prime distraction and Michael's gun came up with twenty seconds still left on the clock.

Leo pulled an MP5-SD from the seat of the van and turned towards the girls, smiling as they began to realize just what was happening to them. When he racked the bolt, Michael knew he was out of time.

"Go, Jamie!"

He started running towards the targets and his gun came up, the green-tritium dots lining up on one of the Germans and holding steady as he closed the distance. The sounds of his and Jamie's feet alerted the targets and they began to turn, their hands reaching for their guns.

When the range was only fifty feet, Michael opened up with a pair that went left past the German. He quickly dodged behind a crate and steadied his hands against it, trying to get something resembling accuracy from his excited nerves. The man, Franz, brought his Beretta M93 up and fired several shots into the crate, peppering it in the hopes of hitting Michael through it. A single round ripped through Michel's jacket sleeve, but his eyes were locked on his front sight and he squeezed off a pair of rounds through the man's head, dropping him where he stood. He turned to address another target- the man called Zeke, and caught a glimpse of Jamie rushing towards Leo, firing fast and with a look of absolute rage on her face.

Jamie wiped the bile from her mouth and gazed at the scene again, hating herself for even attempting to watch it without emotion. She had been there, had felt the fear and hopelessness, and knew exactly what the girls were thinking: It was the question of why they were chosen. She had survived and come to understand that there was no reason at all, at least not one any normal human can understand, and it was only by twisting her mind and opening up a gaping wound for her darker nature to infect, that she was able to know the motives.

"_Terrible, isn't it_?"

It was Janet, struggling to get through and take control again. This was something Jamie could not allow, so she focused on calming her nerves with breathing exercises. There was no time to play mind games with her self, and she would not strand Michael in the middle of a firefight, not when the stakes were so high. She blocked out the voice inside her mind as best she could, hoping it would take the hint.

A girl was struck and slammed against the van, but a phone rang, stopping further attack from the assailant. She listened as the conversation went on and the situation changed, a change that Jamie found herself wishing had come to her and her friends. Perhaps these girls cowering in the lights would die, but it would be before they had to suffer as she had- watching her friends ripped apart to the sounds of laughter. They would die mercifully quick and painless, perhaps the best way to die if you're not playing the game for keeps.

"No," she whispered to herself. "I will not let them die. I _will_ protect them." The other her wanted to be petty about it, arguing that there is no Savior or Protector because she did not receive one when she wanted one. It was this belief that fueled her anger; something Jamie knew was simply the wrong way to think about it.

There had been a savior, and it was Michael. He had saved her life, given her a home and family again, and taught her how to find enough strength, skill, and ingenuity to survive in a life of dangers. Somewhere in all of what she had learned in the past year, she had found a way to justify it all. The killing, the dangers... It was all something she took in stride because it made her strong enough to do something she had always wanted, even before the night she had officially died.

She now had a duty: one beyond the agency, and even Michael. She would be the protector and savior of these women. She had not had one when she really needed it, but she could be one for the women in front of her. Killing people that had hurt her was just icing on the cake.

A sub-machine gun was leveled and the bolt clacked shut, a smile on the man's face.

"Jamie, GO!"

The order made her leap into action and start running towards the targets, her gun in hand and leveled at the man with the machine gun. They began to turn at the sounds of running feet and Leo started to bring the gun down on her form, and Jamie knew she had to take whatever shot she had. The trigger broke clean but her rapid movement shook the front sight to the left, throwing the shot just past his shoulder and into the van.

Leo triggered off a burst but was moving to the side to seek cover, his shots spreading out and his gun firing so quietly that Jamie could only tell she was in danger from the flash of the muzzle and the sounds of the bullets whizzing past her. She fired rapidly as he moved to her right, still closing the distance at a run. A shot caught him on the arm and made him jerk involuntarily from the pain, slowing his movement and allowing her to steady her sights at last as she stopped and knelt to take aim. He was caught square in her sights and the bullet would travel through the bridge of his nose, killing him instantly as soon as she finished the movement of the trigger.

There was a momentary hesitation as she reveled in the moment of justice, but that moment was imperceptible to anyone else as it was a fraction of a second until the weapon's sear dropped and the hammer was freed, streaking forward and colliding with the firing pin, and in turn, the cartridge primer.

The silence was deafening, the lack of motion or recoil that is normally associated with the firing taking time to filter through Jamie's senses, finally resulting in the realization that the shot was a dud. She blinked and looked at the gun, stunned, as it happened at the worst possible moment.

The sub-machine gun was coming up again and Jamie had little time to react. The burst was triggered off and she spun right and dropped to the floor, feeling a round rip through her left arm as she moved off of the axis of attack. She banged her hand on the back of the gun as she rolled and tried firing again in the hopes it had simply not gone entirely into battery, but there was still no shot, not even a click from the striker. It dawned on her that she had to reset it by racking the slide, which she did as soon as she climbed to her knees behind a crate. The dud cartridge popped free, but the slide locked open on the empty magazine, the result of losing her round count as she had fired in anger.

Mistakes were starting to pile up on her and that knowledge became a distraction as she fumbled her spare magazine, dropping it to the floor and seeing it skid a few feet away into the open. Leo peppered the crate with bullets, most of which ripped through, narrowly missing Jamie as she thought quickly of how to escape her jam.

Leo's gun stopped firing, the metallic clank indicating a jam or an empty magazine, the only opening Jamie was going to get that night. She dropped her gun and leaped to her feet, charging the man as he tried to reload with the spare magazine he had coupled to the empty one, his movements slowed by the injured arm.

Her left hand caught the muzzle as the magazine clicked home and she jerked it towards her, driving her right fist under his chin and into his throat, collapsing the trachea and staggering him back with the force of the attack. There was curious choking gurgle from his lips as he released the gun and fell backwards, clasping his hands around his neck and trying desperately to breathe.

A movement caught her eye and she instinctively ducked away as a crowbar was swung at her by one of the Germans. He swung it again and she narrowly dodged it, the steel slamming into the hood of the van with a loud bang and embedding itself in it. Dieter jerked hard on the bar but it refused to come free, giving Jamie more than enough time to take advantage of his mistake.

She recovered from her dodge in a crouch and when the bar became stuck, she switched the MP5 into her right hand, slapped the bolt with her left to chamber a round as it came up, and nearly lifted the man off his feet as she jabbed the suppressor under his chin. Her eyes met his for an instant and she felt the fear within him, and a feeling of satisfaction warmed her even before the three-round burst covered her face with spray from his head.

A body fell to the floor next to her and she looked down to find the unconscious Zeke at her feet, his nose smashed in by Michael's palm. Michael was still standing, gasping for air and holding a six-inch knife that Zeke had pulled and tried to stick him with. His eyes met Jamie's, breaking her from her inaction, and she looked at the nearly headless body she was holding for a moment before dropping it to the floor beside its friends.

The large warehouse door slid open hard and Triela was there with her shotgun, expecting anything but what she found, and Michael and Jamie just glared at her as the excitement started to seep out of their bodies, neither able to say anything after such a fast and tough fight.

Hilshire stepped past her into the lights and looked at the scene without emotion. When Michael had given the go-code, he and Triela had been sitting in the turned off car, still readying for the action. The pair had eliminated the threats in the time it had taken them to start the car and drive the block to the warehouse, the total time being less than two minutes. It said a lot for the way that they worked together, but less for himself and Triela, and he was probably going to hear about it from her.

It was some time before the two felt like moving from where they stood. Whatever reflections they were making in their heads they kept to themselves, looking around at the blood and carnage beside them and trying to figure out what to do next.

One of the evening's intended victims, the brunette, finally broke her stunned silence and stared reacting to what she had witnessed, looking around in a panic and whimpering incoherently in French. Her eyes focused on Jamie's face, covered with blood and matter, and she recoiled in horror, crawling backwards until she bumped against the semi-conscious form of Leo, her attacker.

The blonde was looking around at the people still standing, her emotions beyond feeling anything but acceptance of whatever was going to happen to her. Triela stepped over and bent down to check her for injuries that may have occurred during the shooting.

"It's okay. You're safe now, we're not going to hurt you."

The compassion in her voice brought Jamie back from her fueled aggression, and the sudden rush of pain from her wound made her wince and step backwards away from the mess she had made. Michael was behind her immediately and wrapped his arms around her protectively, though his touch did not seem to comfort her much. In spite of being among friends, she felt alone at that moment.

"The police will be here soon, Michael. We need to leave."

"Yeah. Get the girls into your car and drop them off at the nearest police station." He leaned close and whispered in Jamie's ear, "Get your gun and mags, and wipe down that gun as best you can. We'll ditch it someplace safe."

"Yeah, okay Michael." Her voice was flat and emotionless, perhaps a product of the night's emotions eating up her strength. The brunette had calmed down as they had discussed taking her and the friend to safety, and she gave Jamie a long look as she bent down to pick up the MP5 from where it had fallen from her hands. As Jamie met her eyes, she felt bad that she could not summon any kind of reassuring look to give away.

"I hope you understand just what we have saved you from tonight." Her French was clean and proper, perhaps a surprise to the girl who had been listening to everything else being spoken in English. "These men... these things... they deserve no pity or remorse. What we have done to them is nowhere near as deplorable as what they did to me and my friends..."

"Jamie! That's enough. Do what I told you." She had told the girl enough to get the Parisian cops after them specifically, assuming they had a brain among them to piece it together.

"Yes, sir." Jamie could see something akin to an understanding in the girl's eyes. "I think I've said enough anyway."

She stepped away to pick up her gun and Michael helped the girl up from the floor, noticing the bruising on her face and some blood splatter on her dress.

"If you have any appreciation for what has just happened, then you'll keep quiet about it for a few hours. And keep any names you've heard out of it. My friends and I can't afford to answer any questions."

The girl nodded but said nothing as he handed her off to Hilshire.

"We'll drop them off and head to the meeting point. Don't make me wait."

"I won't. We just have a few things to tidy up around here before we leave." He glanced over his shoulder at Jamie, who was returning with her weapon, having reloaded it and tucked it away safely.

"Be careful, and don't get caught."

They loaded the girls in the back of the car and climbed in, pulling away quickly. The sound of their engine faded and Jamie turned to Michael, her eyes now showing she was back to business.

"I recognize these two..." She pointed at Leo and the very-dead Franz. "The other two I don't know. They're probably pick-ups from after the Milan raid."

"Yeah." Franz obviously wasn't talking, but Leo might have something to say, assuming his throat still worked. "Go and bring the car around. We're taking him for a ride."

"And him?" She nodded at Zeke who was moaning as he started to come around.

"Kill him."

Michael tossed the car keys in the air and Jamie snatched them as she passed, callously drawing her gun and putting a bullet in Zeke's head as she walked by.

It only took a few minutes for her to retrieve the car from where they had stashed it, time Michael used to tie up Leo and clean up a little of the scene. There was no way to get all of the casings they had fired, but the fewer pieces of evidence, the better it would be for them. She helped him load the man in the trunk and they pulled away and turned a corner, just catching a glimpse of a police car hauling ass down the street from the other end.

A few strategic turns had them feeling ten times safer and Michael drove casually through the city to a place where the river was deep and the car could be shoved in. It was a fairly deserted place, but it was only a ten minute run to the nearest train station that had a line to Orly airport.

They retrieved everything of theirs from the car and Michael had a talk with Leo while Jamie cleaned herself up. By the time she had changed clothes and wiped the blood from her face and hands, Michael was done talking.

"Wait, Michael!" She rushed over before he could close the trunk. The man was still alive, and she knew it was Michael's intention to send him into the drink that way. There was something she had to say before they gave him his send-off.

"You know who I am?"

"Yes..."

"My friends... They were all I had in this world. What you did- Well, I'm not going to pray for your soul this time, Leo. It didn't work the first time, so I guess I'll just have to let you have fun burning in Hell."

"Bitch!" He spat at her and made his mark on her face, but she refused to give him anything in the way of a reaction, refusing to be a victim any longer.

"I'll push it in, Michael. It's my right."

"Sure. Bye, Leo. When you see Tommy, tell him I said 'Fuck you very much'." He started to close the trunk but Leo's phone started ringing, and something in Michael's head told him who it would be. "I can't pass this up..."

He pulled it from Leo's pocket and flipped it open. "Bonjour!"

"Christiansen..." If hatred could drip from the earpiece, it would have at that moment.

"Oh, hi there, Amherst. It's funny- Leo and I were just talking about you. You know, it's amazing how much a person will talk when you explain how they were screwed by someone they trusted. Leo has it in his head that you sold him and the boys out. I'm not sure what put that in his head, but he sure as hell thought it sounded like you."

"I see... Well, Martin was supposed to hire some people to take care of them for me, but it seems like you took to that task fairly well. I have to say that I'm impressed."

"It seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. Just send me a check by mail, you know where to find me."

"Indeed I do."

"I've destroyed most of your organization now, Amherst. There are only a few more left before you and I come face to face, so I want you to think up something really clever to say as you stare down the barrel of my gun. Last words are important, I should think."

"I see you're finally playing my game."

"No, the game we're playing is mine. I'm in control now, Amherst. Tomorrow morning, half of Europe will be abuzz with your name and face. Every two-bit hack with a badge will be looking for you, and you can't hide from them all. Even the ones you've paid off will turn on you. Think about that."

"Do you really think I care about them? You've destroyed my collection, killed people I rely on, and have been a nuisance to me since the moment you became involved. And I've been on the run from the police for years, so why should I be concerned now?"

"Because we both know you'll be extremely disappointed if you miss out on my finding you first. You and I have unfinished business, and neither will be satisfied until it _is_ finished."

"I see your point. Well, I suppose I can only wish you luck, and to tell you to watch your back."

"And you."

"Oh, I will."

"Listen, I'd love to chat some more, but I'm afraid we have to be going."

"I'll be coming for you, Christiansen. Make no mistake about that."

"I look forward to it, Ian. In the meantime, why don't you and Leo have a few parting words."

He tossed the open cell-phone into the trunk before drawing his gun and shooting two holes in the lid.

"Bye bye, Leo. Don't forget your towel."

Jamie gave Leo a victorious smirk as Michael closed the lid and motioned for her to start pushing. Her powerful legs got it moving fairly quickly before she ran out of room and it seemed to leap from the bank. They could hear Leo's screams as the car splashed in the water and began to sink, the air rushing from the holes Michael had shot in the lid carrying the panicked voice until it went completely under, the only traces a steady stream of bubbles.

"Well, that one's over."

"Yes."

Michael picked up his pack and started walking down the long, dark road, and Jamie stared at the bubbles in the water for a moment longer before picking her things up and rushing to join him. Returning to Italy and the agency's wrath would be tough on them both, but it was a small price to pay to continue their mission.


	15. Chapter 31 to 32

Chapter: 31

The sun was just rising as they landed in Rome and transferred to Hilshire's car. Victor had made no mention of how they had been an hour late to the airport and Michael figured it was because of his and Triela's own tardiness in the action of the night. He really could not hold it against them, as everything had turned out okay in the end, and with the exception of Jamie's arm and his own jacket, there were no casualties on their side. It was all ad-hoc in design anyway.

Jamie once again found that look on Michael's face as he thought about how things were going to play out, but her own attempts were futile. She could tell there was some important point of information that she had missed, and it was the key as to why Michael was being so calm about all of this. They had disobeyed the agency- something he had feared before, if only for her sake. Why was this different?

The question preoccupied her until they pulled into the parking lot and were led by the other fratello straight to Lorenzo's office, finding the man himself looking officious as usual. Hilshire sent Triela into the hall before closing the door and taking up position next to it.

"Mister Christiansen... It's a pleasure to see you again." He sipped his coffee and motioned Michael to the chair across from him. Jamie followed and took up a guard position to Michael's right, holding onto the back of the chair to steady her nerves. She had never been faced by Lorenzo in his office, and the dominant feel of the room and the man was making her uncomfortable.

"I wasn't expecting to be back so soon."

"You're a hard man to track down, that much is certain. Were you able to complete your mission?"

"Partially. We didn't come across Amherst, but we took out a few more of his people, burned his video collection, and I made sure I gave him a bit of my trademarked irritation when I spoke to him on the phone. I also gave Hilshire a few of the movies I thought could be used to bring pressure on his organization. He has no other option but to hunt me down and destroy me if he has any interest in survival or revenge."

"It was a bit much to hope it would go as you planned, but I'm glad to hear it was not a total waste of time and effort. Have a report of your actions on my desk tomorrow morning."

Jamie blinked at the praise that Lorenzo seemed to be giving out and finally realized what it was she had been missing. "It was all a sham," she whispered. "The whole escape from here was a show."

Michael looked up at her with an amused look. "I can't blame you for taking so long to figure it out, Jamie. The entire point was to make it look as real as possible so that if Amherst has any info leaking to him from inside here-"

"-Then he would know only that we were being chased by the agency. If we were too busy hiding, we could not strike at him."

"Right."

"I feel so stupid not to have figured it out." She ran a hand through her hair and gave a frustrated sigh, feeling the built up fatigue from the whole trip weighing on her.

"You can't blame yourself, Jamie," Lorenzo said from his desk. "I was the only one besides Michael who had known what was happening. For everyone else here, it was a very real attempt to desert. The only thing I did to assist was to restrict the operations in such a way that made us appear to be searching for you without actually getting anywhere."

There was a soft laugh from Hilshire as he understood how well they had all been played. Several of the new fratello had been traipsing around Italy looking for the rogue pair, evidently in a design to give them some operational training without any actual danger or chance of succeeding. Lorenzo was a chess-master when it came to secrecy and operations.

"So I attacked that guard unnecessarily..." Until now, Jamie had felt just in doing so.

"Yes. He would have called into the office and Lorenzo would have told him to let us pass and to keep silent about it." Which was why Michael had explicitly told her to remain in the car. It was also the reason he had been angry with her about it.

"The guard is doing well, in case you were wondering. We gave him a spot in the armory and a bump in pay to compensate him for his troubles." The chief looked up at Hilshire and waved him out. "You can go now, Hilshire, and escort Jamie to the hospital to have her arm repaired. And good work bringing them back. "

"Right." He waved at Jamie to follow and closed the door after she passed.

Lorenzo waited for the door to close before giving Michael an appraising look, and Michael could feel a chill flood the room.

"Now then, Christiansen. It's time we discuss the cost of our agreement."

Her arm had needed only minor patchwork, something for which Jamie was grateful as she rubbed the bandages. Her fast treatment had allowed her a chance to inquire about Maria, but the nurses had told her that she was released to the dorm for the remainder of her healing.

Jamie opened the door to their room expecting the usual excitement from the younger girl, but Maria was sitting in a chair by the window, staring out at the world in a daze. It was a long time before she turned her head to look at Jamie, and the sad, forced smile she gave broke Jamie's heart.

"Hi."

"Hi, Maria. How are you feeling?" She set her things down inside the door and closed it, leaning against it for support against the weak feeling she suddenly had.

"I'm okay. The doctors were kind enough to let me come back to my room to rest."

Maria turned slowly in the chair and pulled herself to her feet, a move that Jamie could tell involved some pain. She limped to her friend, a sign that she was acclimating to the new hip assembly that had been installed. Jamie gasped as Maria hugged her, the arms of the girl's shirt sliding up and revealing the bandages that were wrapped nearly all the way up them.

"Oh... It's not pretty to look at, I know."

"I'm sorry, Maria. I didn't mean to-"

"I know. We're friends, remember? You would never do anything to hurt a friend." The hug was over and she limped to her bed. It was a strain for her to sit down and roll over to get comfortable with her book, but she never complained or let it show as the inconvenience it had to be.

Jamie picked up her gear from beside the door and started unpacking, pulling her new dress from the bag and hanging it up with a post-it note to have it cleaned. Her other clothes went into the laundry basket along with the ones she was wearing and her Walther went onto their shared desk for cleaning, along with the Springfield she had picked up in Paris.

"Hey, do you have a spare forty-five caliber cleaning brush and jag?"

"Yeah, it's in the case with my LaFrance, under the magazines."

The Baritone Sax case was under Maria's bed and Jamie had it open in a moment, shocked at the weight of the weapon as she hefted it. "I didn't know this was so heavy."

"I never really noticed."

Jamie could see her looking at the book but was not really reading it. She was quiet and reserved as usual, but there was a saddening vibe from her now. The gun went back into the case and under the bed, and Jamie went back to the desk to start her cleaning process.

She had the Springfield stripped in only a few minutes due to her lack of familiarity of the design, but it made sense to her mechanically. She started brushing the bore and decided to try Michael's tactics in the conversation.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Hm?"

"I can feel it, Maria. You need to talk with a friend about what's bothering you."

Maria set down the book, carefully rolled over, and then sat up. Her face was plastered with a depressing look, one Jamie knew so well.

"It- it's difficult. I didn't realize what courage it required to face a slow death. All my life, I've known that I could die on the streets of starvation or illness, but I never thought I would have to face bleeding out like that. It was frustrating. I was helpless on the floor and had to watch what they did to those people... what they did to Mario. I couldn't stop any of it. Then they dragged me over and started cutting me..."

Tears formed in her eyes and started to flow, something Jamie had never seen from her friend. She had always been stuck with the inability to form tears except while dreaming, just like the first generation girls.

"Jamie, I-" She struggled to say something else but the words could not come out.

"I know..." Jamie went to her friend and wrapped her arms around her gently, giving support to someone who desperately needed it. "I've been there, Maria. We're cyborgs, so our injuries will heal completely, but we can't just forget it. It's always there and waiting for a chance to make us the victim again. The only thing you can do is work hard to avoid remaining the victim, especially in your own mind."

"It's easy for you to say."

"No it's not. It takes everything inside of me to face the memories. They've become more and more vivid and I have to will myself through them each time before they can overwhelm me. I can smell the blood; feel the heat of the lights and the slice of the knife... Even thinking about it makes my skin crawl, but I fight it. I fight it with all that I am because if I give in to it, the evil will have succeeded in killing me. I won't allow anyone to dictate my life to me like that."

Maria felt Jamie's strength as she spoke. She did not know of any other cyborg that truly believed in herself, her own self-determination, as much as Jamie, and the words lifted her a little from the dark place she felt herself to be trapped in. It was her friend's most important skill, she realized. Jamie was an optimist throughout her body and soul, and even in the face of a dismal reality she was able to find something to latch on to and make good come of it.

She gave another weak smile for her friend's sake, just to show that she understood and appreciated the understanding Jamie had given her. "Thanks, Jamie, but I'm not nearly as strong as you are. It's going to take some time to sort through this."

She extracted herself from Jamie's arms and stood, slipping on a coat and her shoes. "It's a bit early for dinner, but I think I'll go down and get a late lunch. The doctors said I need to eat more to keep my strength up."

Jamie could sense the purpose in her escape. As comforting as it was to know that she had a friend, she just wanted to be alone.

"Okay, Maria. Do you need any help?"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks."

The door closed behind her leaving Jamie with a sour feeling. Just because she had the advice to give, it didn't mean it was capable of working miracles on the spot. Her friend would have to heal in her own time, but at least she now had something to work with.

She stepped back to her desk to continue cleaning her guns, making a note to herself to talk to Michael about it all.

The evening passed quietly enough but the empty seats at dinner the Venice attack had created, and Michael's absence from it entirely, weighed on her heavily. No one had seen him since his meeting with Lorenzo after they had returned from Paris, though Priscilla had been strangely uncomfortable answering her inquiries. One of the guards seemed to recall seeing him heading towards his room earlier in the afternoon, so Jamie started there, taking a plate of dinner with her in case he was hungry.

She knocked hard a few times before finally getting a muffled invitation to enter. Carefully balancing the plate of food allowed her to free up a hand and open the door but she had to blink several times to see into the dark interior of the room.

"Michael?"

"Yeah... Come on in."

Her eyes adjusted to the glow the television screen cast through the darkness and she could pick her way through the room to his desk to set the plate down. The room smelled of whiskey and it only took her a moment to locate an empty bottle lying beside him on the bed. There was an old black and white movie playing on the TV, one she vaguely remembered from flipping through channels over the years. She recognized the man on the screen, standing outside a building called "Rick's" and smoking a cigarette as the glare of searchlights played across the scene.

"Bogart?"

"Yeah." Michael's voice seemed almost a hoarse whisper. Jamie's keen ears could hear a bit of a rattle in his throat as he spoke and her instincts told her he had been crying at some point- she had a lot of practice listening to herself after all.

She stepped closer to get a better look at his face in the light that was available, finally sitting down on the end of the bed. "Which one?"

"Casablanca."

His short responses could only mean that he was upset. His eyes were reddened from wiping at them recently and his face bore the fatigue from a hard day's worth of drinking. She picked up the empty bottle from beside him to examine the label.

"Jack Daniels? Whatever happened to your vodka?"

"I try to keep a bottle of my good buddy Jack around for when I really need to suffer." The slur in his speech certainly lent credence to that claim.

"Why are you getting drunk, Michael?"

"Why not?" His left hand appeared with another bottle and hoisted it to his lips to take a large swig. The whiskey dribbled a bit from his lip, making Jamie realize that it would be up to her to stop him.

"Because it's not good for you!" She rolled over his legs and flipped to her feet, lunging and grabbing the bottle from his hand before his slowed reflexes could pull it to safety. She quickly gauged the bottle as half-empty and could figure that he was going to be seriously hung-over in the morning. That was assuming, of course, that he didn't succumb to alcohol poisoning and need his stomach pumped sometime during the night.

"This is not good."

"Give it back!"

"No. You need to stop this."

"I'm _ordering_ you to give it back!" He started to lean forward to move towards her but his balance was entirely out of whack, and what he thought was forward was more of a diagonal towards his right. "You have to follow my orders."

"I'm programmed to follow the orders of a reasoning human being. After a bottle and a half of this stuff you really aren't in any position to do any reasoning for yourself, let alone for me." She stepped to the bathroom and opened the toilet lid, then took a large swig from the bottle for herself; she was certainly going to need it tonight. She then poured the rest out, tripping the lever to send it all away with a flourish of her hand.

"There... Now I know why Priscilla was so evasive today. You sent her out to get these for you."

"She was being nice."

"I bet."

He was still glaring at her but she ignored it, settling down onto the bed to watch the movie. There was a box of candy on the nightstand and she took it, munching away on a handful while the police entered to take Peter Lorre away.

"_When they come to get me, Rick, I hope you'll be more of a help."_

"_I stick my neck out for nobody."_

"Amen to that, brother. It only leads to trouble." There was an exhausted and resigned tone to his voice that Jamie could not immediately comprehend. He wasn't angry about the liquor anymore, but there was still something in his head or heart that was bothering him.

She leaned back on her elbow and stared at him until he glanced over at her in annoyance.

"What?"

"Talk to me, Michael. Tell me what's wrong."

"I need another bottle, thanks to you." He managed to sit up and swing his legs off the bed, lurching to his feet and staggering into the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door as he unzipped his pants.

"Someone has to look after you, you know. I didn't realize it at first, but ever since that morning you've been a wreck. Your decision-making is slow and your marksmanship has suffered. You haven't been training at all and I can tell that you've gained weight."

"You talk too much."

"I'm just telling you the truth because I care about you." She let that comment hang in the air until he had finished his business and stepped into the doorway, leaning against it for support. His eyes fell on the plate of food she had carried in and then screwed upwards as if he was searching his brain. Jamie knew he was trying to think of the last time he had eaten.

"I'm hungry."

"Well, sit down on the bed there and I'll bring it over to you. You're in no shape to be carrying anything."

"I'd rather sit at my desk. I hate crumbs in the bed." He made his way to the desk and settled into the chair there, pulling the plate in front of him. It struck Jamie as convenient that Michael instinctively did things that were in his best interest, making him consciously work to do things that were a detriment. He wanted to drink his troubles away but his mind and body were steering him on a path to avoid it.

"Fine. I'll sit here and watch the movie, and if you need anything, you just need to tell me."

"Okay."

Her attention was divided between watching Paul Henreid and Claude Rains order a lot of drinks and Michael's eating, but she found herself enjoying the feel of the movie. By the time Bogart was standing in the rain with a 'Dear Rick' letter in his hand, Michael had finished his plate and settled into the bed beside her. He looked a little less cranky, maybe even satisfied from his meal.

"Feeling better?"

"A little. You?"

"Sure. When you want to talk about it, let me know." She was lying on her stomach with her head propped in her hands, kicking her feet in the air like a little girl as she watched the film, and Michael could only think that she looked cute like that.

She was waiting patiently for him to talk about his troubles, but he really did not know whether to tell her what was about to happen or not. So far, his exile from his homeland was a question of legality; his own patriotism never being in questing in either of their minds, nor those of the people who had helped him along the way. If the agency had demanded he committed an act of treason against America, he would have weighed the act carefully and likely used it as collateral to ensure his and Jamie's escape back there.

But his agreement with Lorenzo had required the selling of his allegiance in its entirety to the agency and the man, and that was what weighed on him. Whatever resistance he had given Lorenzo had been eliminated by his promise to unconditionally follow orders if he were allowed to take Jamie on the hunt in Paris.

"We can never, ever, go back."

"Hm?" She turned at the sound of his voice.

"Up till now, we had a place to go if I decided to sell out the agency. Now we don't."

Jamie crawled over and knelt beside him. "Explain."

"I've always kept the option open to escape back to the U.S. with you by selling the agency out to Langley. I would have traded the information we both had for protection, and my ability to simply disappear whenever I really decided to was the only thing keeping Lorenzo from coming down on me entirely in an effort to cut it off. He knows I have a contingency drop arranged to guard against my sudden 'disappearance', so if he ever took me out, what I knew would be spilled out for the world to see. This is what it means to be a careful intelligence agent."

"And now?"

"In order to get Lorenzo to go along with my plan for Paris, I had to agree to turn that information over, and to promise, under threat of our deaths, to go along with whatever orders he gave. This was why I was hoping that it would all have ended in Paris, so we wouldn't have to worry about our mission any longer. But now... now we're entirely trapped under the agency influence, and our next act seals our fate with theirs."

"What do you mean?"

"Our next mission involves committing outright treason against the U.S, Jamie, meaning that once it's done, we can never go back there, no matter what we know."

Jamie thought about that for a while as she looked at him, watching the despair in his soul through the expressions on his face. His depression was from his despair over being inescapably caught in someone else's hands to be toyed with, a situation he had never accepted, no matter how bad things had become. He always had an outlet, and now he was facing the worst possible situation without any kind of outlet through which to escape.

She pulled his head to her chest in a motherly embrace, leaning her head against the top of his.

"You know, it doesn't really matter to me, Michael. I know that you want what is best for me, and that you had your plan in mind because of that, but I've never really expected to be able to escape. The fact that you had it all planned out is a credit to your resourcefulness and speaks of your love for me. Being able to escape has never truly factored into my existence as a cyborg because I'm programmed not to want to. Even when I was trying to run away, I was expecting to have to return eventually. I am sad though that you have sacrificed your own feeling of security for our lust for revenge."

His breathing settled as she held him tight to her, and his lack of response to her embrace showed that he was content to remain there. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued...

"No matter what happens, you know that I love you and that I'll stand with you. It doesn't matter who comes after us, they can't take any of that away because we keep it safe inside."

He didn't respond at all, and she realized that he had fallen asleep the moment his head had hit the warmth of her chest, the alcohol finally taking him into a drunken slumber.

"What do you do when you love someone so much, and then they fall asleep in your arms?"

Jamie carefully pulled his clothes off and settled him into bed, making sure that he was resting on his side to avoid choking in the event he started throwing up. She quickly showered and wrapped his robe around her, and then settled into the bed with him to finish the movie. As Rains and Bogart walked off into the evening, her eyes slowly closed into sleep.

"_Louis... I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." _

"What a wonderful film..."

There was a meeting the next morning, and as Michael showered and shaved himself awake, Jamie watched him through the open door to the bathroom, still wrapped warmly in the blanket. His eyes, though tired and showing the sensitivity of a hangover, were still perfectly focused as the razor glided across his face with a practiced precision.

"You're staring at me again." He rinsed the stubble from the blade and watched her response in the mirror.

"I'm allowed to. The way you clung to me last night made me lose sleep."

"I thought you were my pillow." The eyes returned to the mirror.

"Do you always nuzzle into your pillow's breasts?"

"Beer-goggles make any pillow look good." He finished the last stroke and washed the foam from his face, jumping slightly as he felt Jamie's hands on his shoulders, massaging gently. The face in the mirror was Tanya's, and the mirage made him hesitate in pulling away from the girl until his mind sorted it out.

Jamie's saddened expression went ignored as he quickly dressed, fumbling with his tie repeatedly until finally giving up on it with a huff and tossing it onto the bed.

"Are you angry about my sleeping next to you?" She settled onto the bed again, wrapping the robe around her tightly to preserve some modesty. It felt like he was wordlessly scolding her for the decision to stay with him.

"No."

"Then what?"

"Nothing. Go back to your room and get dressed, then come to the office. I'm going to be there all day today."

"Do you want me to bring you some breakfast..." an attempt to lighten his mood.

"No." He opened the door and left her alone in the room to ponder over the angry look he had flashed as he answered.

Maria was rubbing her eyes as Jamie quietly opened the door and slipped inside their room, clad in Michael's robe and carrying her clothes in her arms.

"Morning..."

"Good morning, Maria. I'm sorry to wake you."

"It's okay, I was waking up anyway." Maria winced as she slowly stretched herself out on the bed, feeling the hesitation as her body started adjusting to the increased motion over sleep. It had been the same, or nearly so, at the beginning of her life as a cyborg, which was why Jamie had eclipsed her as the agency's go-to second-generation cyborg. "I missed you last night."

"Sorry, I took dinner to Michael and ended up staying in his room to look after him. Handlers need help too, sometimes." Jamie slipped from the robe and started searching through their shared closet for something to wear; finally settling on the suit Michael had bought her in Venice.

"Business today?" By which Maria meant the style.

"Yeah. We're spending the day in the office, so I thought I'd dress for it. Is it too much?"

"No. I think you look good in it."

As Jamie smoothed out her blouse she caught another sad look from Maria, and her seeming lack of will to do anything seemed a continuation of the previous afternoon.

"It's Mario, isn't it?"

"What?"

"That look... It says that you and Mario are still distant from each other. You aren't talking?" Jamie zipped her skirt and pulled on her jacket, only having to glance once in the mirror to ensure it was straight. She sat down next to Maria and wrapped an arm around her shoulder for support.

"No. In fact, he won't even see me now. He stays in his room and tells me to go away. I know it hurts him to do it, because I can hear the fear in his voice. Why is he afraid of me, Jamie?"

"Because he is ashamed of not being able to protect you from what happened."

"But I'm supposed to protect him!"

"I know. He knows that as well, but men like Mario and Michael... Well, they feel the need to protect us because they love us, and when they are powerless to help us it hurts them. He feels ashamed to have broken your trust in him, so even though he wants to help you now, he can't bear the thought of facing you. He's also probably fighting with a lack of confidence in his own ability to help you."

"What do I do?" The pleading look in her eyes made Jamie smile warmly, a feeling brought on by her knowledge that she could actually help in that department.

"Go to him. Break down the door if you must, but make it clear to him that you love him, trust him, and expect to be able to rely on each other when you need to." Jamie's fist pumped with the intensity of her words, eliciting a startled look from Maria. The confidence in her face was contagious though, and Maria suddenly felt emboldened to act on Jamie's words and her own feelings, jumping to her feet as best she could.

"I'll go!"

She hobbled to the door and swung it open wide, startling Alessandro who was passing by on his way to Petra's room. The man stared at the girl as an embarrassed face formed, the realization that she was wearing only her t-shirt and underwear suddenly flashing through her mind.

Jamie came to the rescue quickly, pulling Maria away from the door and moving to block any further view he might have.

"Sorry, Mister Ricci, I'm afraid this area is off-limits."

"Oh?" He returned Jamie's polite smile and nodded, continuing on his way down the hall. "I'll remember that next time."

"He's gone now, Maria. Put some clothes on and go back to your mission."

The girl gave an embarrassed smile that showed the confidence she had gained was measurably decreased. "I'll try."

Chapter 32

"Okay, we're ready to begin."

It was a closed meeting this time, with only Lorenzo, Jean, Ferro, and Jamie, yet somehow the nervousness weighed heavy on Michael as he placed photos on the board. He was under the gun again, but this time it was a matter in which he had nothing to gain and everything to lose.

"The man in the picture is the U.S. ambassador's number-two man, Randall Smith. His purpose, ostensibly, is to be the ambassador's trouble-shooter, taking care of little things that crop up, etcetera. His real job is as the CIA's station chief here in Italy. All of the Italian cells report to him, and he reports directly to Langley. We have several photos of his couriers meeting with Padania operatives, though nothing of value has changed hands, so it is my feeling that they are simply watching both sides of our conflict to keep advised on it.

"The real reason we're watching Mr. Smith is his attempts to compromise our technical teams. Langley has become interested in our secret nanotech trade with the US bio-firm, largely because of how under-the-table it is, and it seems someone in the lab has given enough information for them to open up a file for it."

"Internal security is being handled as we speak." Lorenzo was planning a personal interview with the individual who had been selling them out, an interview Michael would rather not think about.

"Good. They're still wanting for information, though. I know how station chiefs work, so I know Smith has fired off a basic tasking message to say that he's on to something, but I don't think he has enough to compromise our operation. He needs _real_ data to start the probe back in the states. This is where I come in."

"In what way?" Jean was watching Michael closely and with the same appraisal he had in Paris when he recruited the man. Lorenzo had no doubt told him what Michael's 'safety' plan had been, and such a betrayal, even as impersonal of one as that, grated on his nerves.

"I'm going to offer them the information they want: The complete synopsis of the Cyborg program in exchange for Jamie's and my own protection."

"How does this help us?"

"The only way I can get close is to offer him something of value. Observation, analysis, approach, and eliminate. Every step will have to be perfect to maintain the illusion that I am wanting out and am trying to keep under your radar. When the time is right, I close the trap and eliminate him."

Lorenzo rubbed his eyes before looking to Jean for his views on Michael's idea, receiving only a frown that Michael's actions had thus far earned in Jean's mind. Turning him loose with his cyborg to lead an official-covered member of the CIA into a trap seemed fraught with hazards.

"Ferro?"

"Sir?" She had been paying attention, as usual, and was prompt in her response.

"You'll work with Michael on this one. Give him everything he needs to shut this leak down as soon as possible, but he is to take the final moves alone. I don't want anyone else's hands in this matter in the event it goes wrong."

Ferro nodded at her orders but Michael caught the hesitant glance she threw his way, unhappy at the thought of working with him again.

"Christiansen... I leave this matter entirely in your hands." By which Lorenzo meant that he was being hung out to dry if things went wrong. It was this kind of support that Michael did not miss from his time in the CIA.

Lorenzo stood and led Jean out of the room in a definitive end to the meeting, and Jamie and Ferro sat quietly to wait for Michael's first decision on the action. He seemed to be playing things around in his head, staring at the conference table for a long time in silence and seeming to ignore the others in the room. Ferro was just getting ready to stand up and leave when Michael looked up from his reverie at her and Jamie, his eyes serious and cold.

"Yeah... I think that'll work." His eyes met Jamie's questioning glance and returned a curious combination of sadness, determination, and regret.

"What?"

"Nothing." He stood and pulled the files in front of him together for later study. Ferro stood and straightened her suit.

"I'll be in my office, Michael. Let me know what you need." Her voice betrayed her displeasure at the arrangement they now had to put up with, and he could not say that he blamed her, but at least she knew enough to follow orders.

"I will. Lets go, Jamie. We have work to do."

"Yes, Michael."

A drive found them in Rome, having lunch at a cafe and watching each other's back for any signs of their enemies. In spite of the danger, Michael seemed focused on his thoughts more than things around him, making Jamie take on more of the responsibility for them both, her eyes scanning the people they passed from behind her sunglasses.

Michael steered her down an alley and to a phone booth, posting her on guard outside of it as he pulled a phone card from his pocket and snapped off the corner. He dialed a number from memory and waited for the encoder tone to sound, letting the earpiece slip from his ear until it finished.

"_United States Embassy._"

"Undersecretary Smith, please."

"_Who may I say is calling_?" There was noticeable confusion from the operator as the line was a dedicated (and unlisted) line for agents.

"John Clark, it's urgent."

The confusion was even greater now, but the tone in Michael's voice was serious enough for the operator to do as she was told. "_Please hold._"

There was a long wait, likely as the number was being traced and Randall Smith was trying to figure out who was calling. After two minutes he picked up, "_This is Smith._"

"Your informant in Section Two was picked up last night. I thought you'd like to know."

"_I hadn't heard. What will happen to him?_"

"I can't say for certain, but you need to know that Lorenzo is not a man to be trifled with on any day of the week. If you want to salvage anything of this situation, cut your ties to Padania and the FRF immediately, and reduce your operations to the minimum necessary until the internal probes are finished."

"_You know a lot of how we work here. I'd have to guess that you're Christiansen?"_

"Do you really have to guess? You're watching me from your office window." Michael turned to face the front of the embassy that was across the street.

"_I can see that you're as knowledgeable as they say. What is it you want?_"

"We'll discuss that at a time of my choosing. Just cut off your operations before you get someone killed."

Michael cut off the call and stepped from the booth, flipping the card into a trashcan as he and Jamie walked by. He couldn't see her eyes through the sunglasses, but he knew she was confused, having only heard his part of the call.

"Is this going to be as tough as Paris?"

"No, this will be harder."

Jamie tugged his arm and brought him to a stop, turning him to face her and pulling off her sunglasses. His face was serious. It was the same as he usually looked before an action, but there was something else to it. The feel of his mood had changed on some level and it was only her closeness to him that allowed her to see the pain that he hid behind the look.

"Tell me."

"No. It's not for you to worry about."

"If it is a threat to you, it is my responsibility to understand and deal with it."

"No it's not. It's your responsibility to do what I tell you." He was still feeling the hangover, had just started an irreversible action that would probably get them killed, and his plan was still only half-baked at best. Jamie's insistence was only serving to aggravate his already frayed nerves, a frustration that came out in the angry tone of his voice.

Jamie stepped back from the words and the anger that delivered them, feeling his tension level skyrocket. He was under so much stress, both internal and external, and it was eating him alive. She could not tell what exactly was the root cause, but she suspected it was a build up of what he had been dealing with since Tanya was killed. He stored it all inside and never let it out, and even though he knew better, he was letting it destroy him.

Michael started walking again and she followed him, slipping her shades on to hide the worried look in her eyes and watching him closely for any further signs of fatigue. They were taking a roundabout path back to the car, she noticed, and it was only luck that a sign caught her eye. It was an advertisement for a place that sounded relaxing and interesting, and it was the overwhelming stress that they had been under the past month that gave her the desperation necessary to try it.

"Michael?"

"What?" He didn't look back as she spoke.

"I want to take you out some place. We're going to be working hard from here on, and I know that we're both feeling the strain, so..."

He finally stopped and turned to look at her, a chance she took to hit him full-force with her most influential "please?" face. She hammed it up a bit, making sure that he knew she was really wanting it. It was a face similar to the one she had used in Venice when she saw another interesting clothing shop, and at that time he hadn't had the strength to fight her. She hoped he didn't have the strength now, either.

"You're not going to buy another dress, are you?"

"No. It's a spa!"

"A spa..." He turned and continued walking, not even bothering to respond with his thoughts about her needing a spa treatment.

"No, really, c'mon, Michael! You've been really uptight lately and I think some relaxation time would do you good." She hooked her arm around his and held onto it, falling into the role she had in Paris, that of a bubbly girlfriend.

"I'm plotting the killing of a man and you want me to get a manicure and rub-down?"

"Michael, I'm just... I'm just trying to help you. I think a few hours in a Jacuzzi might do some good for you, and it's not as if we don't have the time at the immediate moment."

"I said no, Jamie, and that's final. I don't need to relax, and I certainly don't need to soak in a tub."

He just didn't get it. She was working to find some way of helping him and he was blowing her off, barely attempting to listen to her ideas. Ever since he had watched Tanya die, he was allowing a cloud to hang over him. There were times when he was able to push it all aside, but the previous night had shown that he was losing the battle against his depression, and the stress and fatigue were the results. His frustration was also contagious... It was only way she could later explain her next comment.

"You just need to get over Tanya and start being a man again."

She had said it to herself, but aloud, and the speed at which he turned on her was shocking. Michael's hand struck her full-force across the face, cracking like a whip and sending her reeling backwards onto the ground. People stopped to look at the pair, one with a hand to her cheek and thoroughly stunned at the act, the other breathing hard and working desperately to hold back a rage from deep inside.

Jamie's eyes had tears; her stomach churned sickeningly from her outburst, and the most painful part was the way he was looking at her. He hated her. He hated her as much as any of the scum that he had been exacting justice upon, and replaying the comment in her head, she really could not blame him.

"Michael... Michael, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that! I just..." She tried desperately to explain herself, but he never gave her time to. He turned his back to wait for her to get to her feet.

"You're just my partner, Jamie. Not my mother, not my wife... My partner."

"I'm your friend. I'm your sister!" She cried it aloud in the hopes that someone, anyone, would care. "I'm the person who cares about you the most!" She was on her knees, practically begging him to listen and ignoring the stares they were getting from the passers-by. "Nothing- _nothing_- in this world means as much to me as your happiness, and I try every day to live up to your expectations so that I am not a burden on you. I work hard to make your life easier, to take a few of the things off of your mind so that you can devote yourself to the important things."

He was listening now, she could tell, but that knowledge did little to phase the wave that she had unleashed. She had to get it all out while she could, and the tears flowed freely as the words came from within her,

"But now you're pushing me away. I'm trying to help you in any way I can and you're pushing away in some masochistic, self-aggrandizing belief that you can solve all of your problems alone. Well you can't! No one can. All we can do is cling to each other and fight to retain what little sanity the world around us allows us to keep."

Michael still had not looked at her, but she had hope that he was taking the lesson to heart, letting his mind cool down as the words spoke to his soul.

"Tanya spoke of the place where the wind and waves threaten to tear us from our humanity- a place where all people like us end up at some point in time." The tears slowed as her inner strength began to take up the fight. "Maybe I started out in a place similar to that, but you helped me find my humanity again. I can see it. I can see and feel the pain you're in and I want to help you out of that place. Please let me help... Before it's too late for you."

She ended her plea with her hands held close to her heart, the very image of praying to the one she held so high. The sight was not lost on the spectators, most of whom were curious about the drama unfolding in their midst, and they all looked to Michael for his answer, not knowing what it was all about, but hoping for the best for the girl.

Michael turned finally and Jamie's heart sank as her heart read the look on his face. He wasn't angry, but neither was he amused or warmed by her words. If anything, he was even further into the pit of emotional numbing than he had been before.

"Get your ass up and let's go. You're making a scene." He continued down the sidewalk towards the car, leaving everyone who had witnessed the scene in a state of shock at the lack of caring displayed by the man.

The on-lookers looked back at Jamie who climbed to her feet slowly, rubbing her eyes dry of her tears, and trying to phase out the looks from the people around her. A young woman, perhaps only a couple of years younger than herself, placed a hand on Jamie's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

"Are you alright?"

Jamie looked at the girl and managed to contain her shock at the girl's uncanny resemblance to Carol, with her red hair and green eyes, and a smile all her own. Somehow the resemblance made the gesture more comforting that it otherwise would have been, and for that Jamie managed a soft smile.

"Yeah. He's hurting inside... I love him, so I can't help but try to understand."

The girl didn't smile back but she understood Jamie's point, so she gave the cyborg a friendly pat on the shoulder and continued on her way. Perhaps it was the meeting of parted spirits, those of her and Carol, but even if it wasn't, Jamie was grateful for the help when she needed it.

She had to run to catch up with Michael, managing to climb into the Jag just before he pulled away, not even caring if she buckled in or not. Between his silent anger and the car's horsepower, they made if back to the agency in near-record time, and on climbing out, Michael pointed her to the practice range.

"Go change and double-time it over to the rifle range. I want fifty X's out of fifty shots on your scorecard at eight-hundred yards before you return."

Jamie glanced at the helipad by the hospital and could see the windsock flipping randomly every few seconds to almost its full length in concert with the wind. It also swiveled markedly on its post, the combined effects known in pilot-speak as "variable and gusting."

"In these conditions?"

"Is that a problem?" His voice made it clear that there would be some problems if she saw it as one.

"No. No, I think can do it, but it's going to take me quite a while."

"Report to me in the office when you are finished." Michael started walking towards the office complex, leaving Jamie staring at his back as she considered the punishment he had just lumped on her. She had just started to turn towards the dorm when she heard him call over his shoulder, "And don't forget to run your laps."

It occurred to her that he was just getting her out of his hair for a long while, forcing her to remain at a distance rather than dealing with her attempts to comfort him. More than that, it almost seemed that he was afraid of being comforted.

Michael was hurting inside from the loss of Tanya, the loss of his homeland, and with this new mission, the loss of his patriotism. Love, Identity, Beliefs... As she started pulling her suit off in her room, she had to wonder if the man had anything left to live for, and whether that was explanation for the depths of his sorrow.

"What do I have?" She started to apply the same standards to her own case, an effort that really did not take much thinking.

She loved Michael, plain and simple, and with unconditional devotion. Jamie now knew that the agency could not make her love him as much as she did. There was no level of brainwashing or chemicals that could give her the warmth in her heart when she saw Michael smile at her, or the way he laughed when she bought something to wear, all the while thinking of how hopelessly warm a person she was.

Jamie now also knew who she had been, the kind of strength she had before, and how she had started out with nothing as a cyborg. Her memories were integrating into her personality, giving her hope and understanding when she needed it, and resolve and strength when she _really_ needed it. Still, she could not say that she was Janet Wells again. That connection was still eluding her, likely because of the part of her that she didn't control was still using it. Maybe she was the same person but with a different name- a sort of marriage of the two individuals inside her. She was now Jamie Christiansen, a type-two cyborg of the Social Welfare Agency, and her loyalty was to Michael and the agency. This was her identity.

The beliefs thing was a bit trickier, but then again, beliefs always are. There were hints in her head of her old thinking, the belief in God and the Holy writ. She could sometimes remember the feeling of singing songs of praise in front of people, her public announcements of her beliefs and her own way of helping others understand the faith she had, and perhaps encouraging them to seek it out for themselves.

Now... Now she could feel the difference in Janet and herself. Janet would not have killed, would not have enjoyed doing it, and certainly would not have made an effort to exact revenge on the people who had hurt her. The person who was exacting that revenge was the Janet who had lost her faith in everything except herself. The bloodshed, the tears, and burning anger... It was all the product of those hours in that warehouse and the hard truth of reality hitting a blind young woman in the head.

For Jamie, the killing, the evil people, and the reasoning for it all were something she had been taught from day one as a cyborg. The things she did were in response to the reality that had taken Janet Wells by surprise, and perhaps it was why she could cope with it all now when her mind had previously been unable to.

So what did she really believe in? While she still believed in a God and in something resembling the theological understand of Fate, she really could not say that she had patriotism as it compared to Michael. She remembered her home in Springfield and the concept of having a home to go to at the end of the day, but she could not say that she really felt it to be the place she would never leave. The dorms, while comfortable, and understandably 'home', in the emotional sense, they really did not hold her loyalty in a way that helped her to understand Michael any.

No, Michael's beliefs were not rooted in a place so much as an ideal or set of them. He felt himself to be an American, first and foremost. He believed in liberty and justice, the protection of the weak and the punishing of the wicked. He believed in apple pies and hot dogs and cold beers while watching sports on Sundays. Even through all of his time in Europe for the CIA, he knew in his heart that he had never betrayed or carelessly misplaced his beliefs in all things that he felt were American.

But now... Now he was hurting because he had to give them all up. He was committing an act that would forever brand him a traitor- a deserter in keeping the faith of those things. Even if they got away clean with the killing of Randall Smith, Michael would still know in his heart that he had broken faith by becoming a traitor.

Michael was lost because he could not feel that there could be an outcome favorable to him. Maybe he had given up caring about consequences beyond those that would affect the outcome of his missions. What was it Tanya had told her? If Michael had been with her after he was cut from the CIA, he would not have been as devastated?

About the only thing he considered himself to have left was his mission: the annihilation of Amherst and his organization... and all of the killing along the way.

As Jamie walked along the road towards the rifle range, she had a glimpse in her head of just how bad that method of living could be. She pictured the scene of Tanya fighting viciously against Michael as he held her to the ground, trying desperately to calm her down. Her mind quickly morphed it into Michael on the ground and herself trying to find some way to calm him, a frightening idea in that the man simply did not know how to give up. He could not, and in that light the only thing she could count on was the same as Michael had- the breakdown of the physical body. If he could not give up, she would have to hurt him. It was a thought that made her sick even without the conditioning.

The range was silent but for the wind blowing randomly through the windsocks that were spaced every couple of hundred yards. There was a hint of another round of rain/snow as it approached and gave the air a bitter feel as it ripped through her BDU pants and also across her exposed hands. The conditions were terrible for sniping, perhaps only able to get worse if it were actually raining, at night, and during an actual war.

There had been nights where Jamie had lain awake, gazing at the picture of Lyudmila Mikhailivna Pavlichenko that resided on the desk next to her cleaning gear, wondering what such an environment as war-torn Odessa had been and whether she herself would have had what it took to be infamous in the eyes of the enemy. On her best day Jamie could proudly say that she could match the woman in skill, if not experience, and thus was likely to be a welcome colleague to Pavlichenko.

Jamie chose to ignore Michael's order to run her laps before shooting, instead settling into her prone position with the blanket over her and the rifle on its bipod with the legs wedged between two sandbags. Michael's order was foolish enough to be contemptible, as there was nothing to be gained skill-wise by pointlessly trying to shoot fifty straight X's in terrible conditions, after having run ten kilometers. He was getting her out of his hair for an extended period of time by making the rules insanely difficult and the results impossible to attain. That idea was reinforced when her eye caught the two-hundred meter flag drop and start to shift towards her left even as the eight-hundred flag was still blowing almost seven knots to her right. Reading the wind and understanding its dynamics was not difficult, but predicting it in this situation was impossible, and that meant the shot was also, or nearly so.

Still, it was something of a challenge, so she loaded her ready magazine in the rifle and flipped the bolt through it's motion, feeling the familiar gentle thumps as the cartridge transitioned between the mix of metal surfaces on its way to going into battery. She settled in with her left fist loosening slightly to give the shot the proper arc it needed for the shot. The safety clicked off and her finger rested lightly against the trigger as she read the wind in the grass and flags, waiting for a moment of serenity amidst the chaos.

Her body was infused with calm, deathly still but for her shallow, controlled breathing and her relaxed heartbeat. The crosshairs never budged from the hold she had on the target, just a little high off of the top edge of the black-on-white splotch that was so distant. A moment came when the winds were the same at all of the flags and she instinctively adjusted for it as her finger squeezed through the trigger's motion. The rifle roared and the flame propelled the bullet downrange at supersonic speed, lancing its way through the target and leaving a hole touching the bottom corner of the X-ring.

She smiled as she recorded the shot in her book, thinking that perhaps it wasn't so much impossible to accomplish Michael's task as it was unlikely. It was the same with her attempts to save him from the path he had chosen of late, that of isolation and self-destruction. It was unlikely she could sway him from the path, but it was not impossible, and that made it worth trying until it was final in one way or the other.

Michael was still at his desk when Jamie entered the office several hours later, her rifle slung on her back and her pack in her left hand, her brown hair dripping with the cold rain that had begun to fall in the past hour. Ferro glanced up at her from her position next to Michael, stopping mid-sentence in her report on the assets devoted to tailing Michael's target, feeling a slight chill from the presence of an openly armed cyborg in the office.

"Michael..."

He turned to look as the subtle tones in Ferro's voice told him that he should. He caught Jamie's eye as his own appraised her condition, taking note of the look on her face and reading it for what the lack of enthusiasm represented.

"Finished already?"

Jamie stepped over and tossed her damp score-sheet on the desk amid a spread of droplets from her sleeve. "Yes. Sorry it took so long."

She waited as he glanced at it, noting the positions of the dots she had scrawled in to represent the locations on the large target she left on the range. The score was tallied on the right side of the sheet making it easy for him to understand at a glance what she had accomplished.

"Thirty-seven Xs, eight nines, four eights, and a flyer." He looked up from the sheet with a hint of anger mixed in the disappointment. "I said not to come back unless you had a perfect set of X's."

"It wasn't possible in the conditions that existed. Seventy-four percent with another eighteen makes for a ninety-two percent fatality rate, more than acceptable in the circumstances." She even rolled her eyes to express how foolish she knew the task to be, an act that grated on his nerves.

"Go back out and do what I told you to do. I won't accept failure."

Jamie was ready with her reply, steeling her stomach against the onslaught that was sure to come. She turned her back and flipped her free hand in the air, the gesture representing the way she was tossing his opinion aside.

"Then do it yourself. I've given it my best and the weather did not allow me to do any better, so I'm not going to waste any more time on it today. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow."

Ferro gave a disapproving look and Michael started steaming in his suit, clenching his pen tightly.

"I gave you an order, Jamie."

"And I followed it to the best of my ability." She stopped at the door and looked back at him, feeling the warnings from within her. "I'm sorry I couldn't do any better, but continuing in the manner you specified would only dull my edge, not hone it. I'm not going to destroy what we've worked so hard for just because you tell me to. You told me to be smart, and I'm doing so right now. I'll be in my room if you need me."

"Jamie!"

Ferro grabbed his shoulder as he started out of his chair, preventing him from following Jamie from sight.

"What is going on?" Michael's anger was no longer being concealed and Ferro had to believe that it was more on Michael's side than Jamie's. He had lost control of it and the stark contrast with the man that had come into the agency could not be more damning.

"Nothing!"

"Bullshit."

"It's not your problem." He went back to the documents on his desk, feigning their study to try to get rid of the pest.

"It is. The effectiveness of the teams is one of the things I'm tasked to evaluate, so when I see any problem, it becomes my problem." Ferro stepped to the front of the desk and leaned on it, her hands holding down the papers he was trying to read. "So what's wrong with you?"

Michael sighed, looking up at her and wishing she were a bit more feminine. If he was going to have to look at her, the least she could do was be a bit more pleasing to the eyes. "Me?"

"Yes."

"Nothing. I'm the same I have always been. This discussion ends here, Ferro." He snatched the papers from under her with a glare that told her there would be nothing further said on the matter.

Ferro could see what Jamie was concerned about now. The way Michael had stood up to her was not the same man that had his head so attached in Venice. His leadership was being based mainly on force and intimidation, and it was a bad way to fight unless you had the hardware to back it up. Michael knew that, and the fact that he was ignoring his own sage advice meant that he was possibly losing control of himself.

Ferro let him have his space for now, but his victory would be short lived if she had anything to say about it.

It had been a long time since Ferro had walked among the cyborgs in the halls they considered their domain. Most of the girls looked at her as an almost alien presence- entirely out of place and probably not welcome. Fortunately she had no trouble finding Jamie's room, knocking twice at the second door from the top of the stairs and waiting patiently for either Maria or Jamie to answer.

"Is there something you need, Ferro?"

Jamie was toweling dry her hair as she rounded the corner from the staircase, her wash-kit in her other hand and a somewhat stunned look on her face.

"Er...yes. I wanted to speak with you." Jamie gave a suspicious look- one Ferro could not blame her for. "It's about Michael."

"I see." Jamie opened the bedroom door and stood aside to let Ferro in, closing it behind her as the woman looked casually about the room. Everything seemed clean and in order, so Ferro took a seat in the desk-chair and waited for Jamie to finish drying off.

Jamie dug into her drawers and came out with a clean t-shirt, which she pulled on after taking off her robe, not even caring about modesty in front of the other woman. "This is unexpected."

"I know. I don't often find myself compelled to interrogate the cyborgs on their handler's activities, but in this instance, I have no choice."

"I thought you might see it." She pulled on her sweat pants and settled onto her bed with her guitar, picking at it randomly, but with something of a natural progression to the notes. "Just so you know, I'm not going to hand him over to anyone. My responsibilities are towards protecting him, and anyone that thinks they're going to hurt him had better have a full-strength company of soldiers at hand."

Ferro could feel the attempt at intimidation that lurked in Jamie's words. It was used much as a rattlesnake might- the sounds being warning enough for those who knew them, but speaking of incredible dangers if ignored. Jamie was such a person, or had become such because of Michael's teachings, and her threats were certainly real to those who understood her capabilities that she covered with exaggeration.

"I'm not looking to hurt him, Jamie. I need to know what has been happening to make him like this."

The girl started strumming a rhythm on the guitar, her long fingers effortlessly picking out the notes she needed as she stared past Ferro at the wall, letting her heart flow through the strings. It was a quiet, thoughtful tune that spoke of her sadness at the situation.

"He's broken... He's been cracked for some time now, but this latest mission has broken him inside, I guess. He's lost his reason to live, the things that have kept him going."

"Explain."

Jamie sighed, remembering that she was talking to someone who hardly felt anything at all. "The things that have defined his existence as Michael Christiansen have left town. His love, his patriotism, and his determination to do the right thing... They're all gone. What remains is the shell of a man, not unlike the homeless people I played for back home. He exists, and that's about it. His days are filled with the tasks put to him, and his nights are filled with memories and regrets, amplified by the alcohol."

"Hmm..." Ferro had thought that might be the case, but having Jamie confirm it made it more worrisome. She was smart, just as Michael had been trying to tell them, and if her actions earlier in the day had shown anything, it was that she could not follow him into utterly foolish actions, even if he ordered it. "You're saying that he is no longer competent."

"That's not what I said. What I said was that he is self-destructing because of this latest action. If you want the CIA boogeyman dead, Michael will accomplish it. The concern you should have is what will be left of him at the end of it. He isn't going to accept having the mission taken away from him, and with his actions this morning, you really can't do that and still have an available target."

"So you're saying that we need to fix him. Any ideas on how?"

The guitar continued its lonely tune, barely wavering as Jamie shrugged, "Take some of the workload off of him? If I can get a bit more free time with him, maybe I can coax out his frustration and get him back on the path. The big problem with that is how he's ignoring me. He hears what I say, but he is really not interested, and the fact that I disobeyed him today makes him less interested, not more. He is slowly closing off everything around him."

"So what you need is something that is sure to get his attention."

There was a knock on the door, the harsh sound of the heavy hand announcing the intentions of the face that leaned around the opening door.

"Excuse me, Ferro." Olga's husky voice and Russian accent did not fit the apology in any way except to show it as a courtesy to Jamie. "The surveillance teams are in place and waiting for the target to head back to his residence. Michael has demanded to lead one of the teams, but I informed him of your control on the matter. He is probably looking for you as we speak."

"Thank you, Olga. I will deal with him when I find a chance."

Olga started out the door but stopped, looking back at Jamie and feeling the sadness that seemed to enter her face lately whenever anyone mentioned him. "Forgive me for intruding, but there are only two sure ways to get a man's attention: his favorite food, and in his bed."

Ferro and Jamie had the same stunned look on their faces for a moment as Olga's words sunk in, finally eliciting a thoughtful expression from Ferro and an embarrassed flush from Jamie. Olga's ears had to be pretty good to have heard their conversation from the hall.

"That's..."

"That's very insightful, Olga."

Jamie glanced at Ferro with a questioning look, her eyes searching for the answers that Ferro's seem to say she had.

Olga smiled softly; glad to have helped at least a little. "I'll be in town on the surveillance mission with Priscilla if you need me. Good luck, Jamie."

"Luck?"

What, exactly, was she going to need luck for?


	16. Chapter 33 to 34

Chapter 33

The plan was finally in place... Three weeks of work had developed a sound strategy that Jamie could find no flaws in, with perhaps the possible exception of Michael's complete refusal to participate. To that end, she stacked the deck as much as possible, even enlisting the help of Priscilla and Olga, and having Ferro order him out to track a suspect they had been watching.

The air in the van was stifling with the smell of sweat, coffee, and cigarettes. More than once Jamie had caught Michael glaring at Olga, obviously suspecting the tough woman of being the source of the prevalent body odor smell, though Jamie had to wonder if it might actually be Priscilla since it had become much more pronounced since the woman had taken off her jacket and was now wearing only her tank-top. It was no wonder that Michael had camped out next to the window that was cracked for air.

"There he is!" Priscilla took several photos of the man as he casually walked along, never suspecting that he was the object of government scrutiny.

"Anyone with him?"

"No, he's alone this time."

The man came into Michael's field of vision and the keen eyes tracked him until he entered a restaurant, having taken a suspicious glance around for a tail before slipping inside.

Michael dialed his phone and waited for Ferro to pick up. "It's me. The target went into a restaurant on Viale del Policlinico. He was alone."

"Okay. I want you to apprehend him immediately and bring him in for questioning."

"Right." He hung up and shot a glance at Jamie before motioning her to get ready. "Let's go get him, Jamie."

It was all Jamie could do to hold back the smile she felt inside at how he was falling into her trap.

"Yes, sir." She added a bit of the stress she had been feeling lately into her voice. Michael had become even more distant of late, to the point that their only contact was now on the professional level. He had even been fetching his own coffee in the office, refused to discuss anything other than the work, and completely avoided her in the off hours.

His physical health was now a major concern for her as he had not taken any exercise in those weeks, had become close friends with several liquor-store owners, and was taking the occasional pill alongside it all. Today was going to be the day of reckoning in this whole mess, and one way or the other, he was going to get some help.

Jamie zipped her jacket and grabbed her guitar case, taking a spot near the sliding door. "I'm ready, Michael."

"It's about damn time." The door opened and he slipped out, opening the sliding door for Jamie and glancing around at the people on the street, constantly scanning for dangers. Jamie stepped a few feet away to give him his space and then followed him across the street to the restaurant.

The door opened and a shadowy pair entered, a man in a suit with a young woman wearing jeans and a jacket, carrying a guitar case in her pale hands and a soft smile on her lips. The door closed and the man flipped the sign in the window around to discourage any customers from adventuring inside.

The target looked up from where he was seated at a table, and the waiter placed the last piece of an extensive meal at the second place setting, glancing around to make sure the place was empty of other customers.

"Emilio Costanzo..." Michael stepped to the table with his hand on his gun while the girl simply looked on from behind her sunglasses. "You're under arrest. Come quietly so we can avoid a disturbance."

The target smiled at Michael while he munched on a French fry from the plate in front of him.

"Do you really know why you're supposed to bring me in?"

"I don't really care."

"You might..." His hand slipped under the table and Michael's Smith was in his face before he could flinch.

"Hands where I can see them or you'll be painting the wall like Michelangelo."

"Take it easy, Christiansen. It's not what you think." He didn't look up at the surprised expression on Michael's face, instead carefully withdrawing his hand from under the table, revealing a small package that was gift wrapped in gold foil.

It was enough to catch Michael off-guard and he stepped back slightly. "What is this?"

"It's the only thing I could think of." Jamie's hand touched his, slowly lowering the gun to point safely at the floor. Michael's surprise changed to an angry glare directed at her.

"What do you mean?"

"This is Emilio Francesco, one of Olga's friends from Section One. He's been acting as a suspect in this investigation in order to lure you here today. Ferro helped me arrange for this special meal for the two of us, including the privacy of the closed restaurant."

"All of this the past two weeks was a sham?" Anger still lurked in his voice, a sign that he had not decided what to feel about it yet.

"Yes. You've been ignoring me. You have refused to listen to anything I say, anything I do. The only thing I could come up with was to make it part of the job." She took the gun from his hand and slipped it back into his shoulder holster, leaning her head against his chest affectionately as she did so. His body stiffened at her touch and he backed away to gain some space from her.

"Mister Christiansen," the waiter chimed in. "The chef has worked hard to provide you with an excellent sampling of simple American cuisine. Please, enjoy." He motioned to the table and Jamie gave him a grateful look, hoping Michael would take the hint and sit down to lunch with her.

"Michael, please... sit down and-"

But Jamie was suddenly speaking to his back as he walked angrily to the door, making sure he slammed it on the way out. His actions made it clear that he was not the victim of his circumstances as she thought. He was willingly hurting himself inside to keep his aggression up, likely in the mistaken idea that his fury was going to pull the day when it finally came. While fury can give a person temporary strength, it wears out the body quickly and soon loses it's effectiveness. Like vengeance, she now understood, it could not sustain a person's soul.

"Michael..."

She could sense Emilio and the staff staring at her and waiting for her orders. She had put all of the ideas into motion with Ferro's help and it was simply not the solution that she had hoped.

"I'm sorry... I thought this would be something he liked and I was wrong." She turned to face them, being brave in the face of her failure. "Please, enjoy and don't let the meal go to waste. You've all been very helpful and I thank you for your efforts. Please tell your chef that it all looks wonderful, and that we will come back to taste his works after all of this is sorted out."

Emilio placed the gift in Jamie's hand and offered her a smile. "Don't lose hope, Jamie. He'll come around eventually."

"I know. I won't lose sight of that. Thank you."

The gift went into her pocket and she ran out the door with her case to try to catch up with Michael. She caught up to him at the corner and could tell that he was fuming from the disappearance of the van.

"They went to lunch, Michael."

"I figured that."

The light changed and they crossed the street, Jamie's memory of the area telling her he was heading for the nearest place he could rent a car. For Michael to ignore the fact that he could just call Priscilla to pick them up meant he was angrier than he was letting on, if that were possible. Jamie reached for her own phone but a glance from Michael made her hesitate in dialing, her hand starting to shake slightly at the directed anger.

"Want me to call them so we can get a pick-up?"

"No. I want you to follow me for a while longer." There was a subtle hint of his action-voice in his words, the same voice he used when he was making decisions of life or death on the fly. It reflected his mind's focus on everything around him and was rarely influenced directly by his mood, so it was in this that she often felt comfortable following his orders.

"Okay." Her own tone told him that she was waiting for his instructions, something he seemed to be okay with.

They walked the same as before, with his body language speaking of a preoccupied mind and careless moves and her movements responding to his, even as they both were scanning the people around them. Her instincts finally keyed her into what he had picked up on the moment they had left the restaurant: a tail in the form of two men about twenty yards behind, trying a bit too hard to look normal. A car traveling the other direction honked its horn and she used the opportunity to look back at the men, sizing them up and catching the print of a gun through the one man's jacket.

"Jamie," his voice was low, almost as if he were mumbling to himself and so softly that she had to strain to hear him with her earplugs in. "I'm going to cause a commotion in a moment. I will send you away, so you'll need to circle around ahead of me and be ready for them."

He trusted her silence was her understanding and timed his next move carefully, spinning around on Jamie in anger.

"Goddammit! I told you to leave me alone! I don't want to talk it out and I don't want to listen to your inane rambling, so back the fuck off!"

"Michael!" She had been ready for it and recoiled in surprise and fear for the entertainment of the masses.

"Just stop!" Michael pointed her to a narrow alley. "Just go away and get the hell out of my life!"

"Michael, please..."

"I'm done with it all. Just go away." He shoved her into the alley roughly before turning his back in his feigned anger, storming away under the eyes of the people around him.

Jamie walked the length of the alley slowly with her head hung low, playing the role for anyone who might be watching from the street. She made a fast turn at the next left and ducked down to get her rifle out. The latches popped on her case and she felt blindly inside as her eyes closed and her ears locked onto the sounds echoing down the alley from the way she had come.

There were footsteps there, only one pair, and they sounded like the cautious approach of a man about the height she had seen when she had looked back. Her hand went to where the grip of her G36 should be and her fingers brushed across the metal strings of her guitar, freezing her in her thoughts.

In her concern and confusion regarding Michael and the day's planned events, she had brought the wrong case...

Michael turned the next corner and caught the split up of the tails with a sideward glance. Jamie was positioning herself around the next corner and with any luck she would time it all right, catching both men off-guard with the overwhelming force.

He slowed his walk, acting the part of struggling with his emotions even as his mind had pushed everything emotional from it. He was every bit of machine as Jamie in his actions, now. His body was craving the action against the man following him, making him sweat and feel stiff enough to warrant the loosening of his tie. After loosening it, his hand slipped into his jacket and popped the thumb-break off of his Smith, getting it ready for a moment's action without being obvious.

The tail had picked up his pace a bit, a move that Michael suspected was designed to time the attack for when they arrived at the alley and Michael could be shoved out of sight of the general public. Little did the attacker know that he was being led into a trap.

The alley was beside him and the footsteps sounded loudly behind as they closed the final paces, a precursor to the hands that clamped onto his shoulders as he started to spin around at the noise. He was viciously thrown into the shaded alley and he stumbled over a crate, falling onto his stomach. Jamie would be arriving in a moment to save him, so he felt no fear when he was unceremoniously kicked onto his back and a gun pointed at his forehead.

"Amherst said to watch your back, Christiansen." There was amused evil in the man's face as he stared at Michael through the sights of the Beretta he held. "He has a few things he wants to say to you in person, but he wasn't specific on whether he wanted you unharmed or bleeding profusely."

Jamie would be arriving any moment...

"I would think he wants to torture me for a while, so harming me would probably be a mistake."

"Yes, but one of the people you murdered in your little quest for revenge was my brother, so if he put me on the job of finding you, he must expect me to rough you up a bit."

The logic was reasonable so Michael could only shrug his understanding, but a part of his mind was getting concerned at Jamie's tardiness. Concerns became moot when the man started kicking Michael in the ribs with his steel-toed boots, knocking the air from his lungs and racking him with pain.

"Feels good, huh? I bought these boots with you in mind. The thought of kicking your skull in makes me feel alive!" Another kick to the ribs and Michael thought he felt something crack, the pain excruciating. It took all of his mental fortitude to focus past it and clutch his arms across his chest, trying desperately to go for his gun. It was obvious that Jamie had failed him and that he had to rely on himself.

His hand touched the stippled grip of the pistol and started pulling it free, his eyes flashing anger at his assailant in an unconscious warning of deadly intent. The gun cleared his jacket and started to angle up, the pain flashing through his chest and arm, slowing it down. His target's steel toe smashed against his wrist, kicking the gun into the trash littering the edges of the alley.

A knee pressed onto his aching chest, crushing the breath from his lungs even as the muzzle of the Beretta pressed into his forehead.

"Nice try, but now it's time to say goodbye. For my brother... I'm sure Amherst will understand."

Jamie rounded the corner from the street, swinging her guitar with a scream of rage that sounded down the alley like the wail of an angry banshee. It caught the man under his chin, shattering the body of it and launching him off of Michael to land almost ten feet away. Michael's eyes saw the flames of anger in her eyes as she stepped over him to the still-conscious man. The goon had started to get to his feet as Jamie approached but nothing could spare him from her wrath, and her eyes burned with fury as she kicked him onto his back and plunged the broken neck of the guitar into his chest.

There was a final cough from the man, the sounds of Death claiming another soul, and Michael watched Jaime pull the makeshift spear from the body and sag against the side of the alley, gasping for air and holding her left side. He could see blood under her hand and realized that her attacker had hit her.

"Jamie..." Michael struggled to his feet through the pain of his cracked ribs, catching his breath before pulling out his phone and dialing Ferro. "It's me again. Jamie and I were attacked on the street, about five blocks east of the restaurant. We need clean-up and medical here ASAP."

The alley was silent, and somehow in Michael's mind even the sounds from the street were blocked out. The only things he could discern were his gasps for air, the breath halting each time as the pain heightened, and Jamie's muted whimpers as she started coming down from her aggression and began to realize the pain she felt.

"Jamie, how bad are you hit?"

"It's nothing, Michael. It's just a scratch." She checked her hand that she had been holding against the wound beside her breast and watched the blood drip from the heel of her hand onto her jeans.

"That's more than a scratch." He stepped to her side and quickly folded the handkerchief that he usually kept in his suit pocket, forcing her hand aside and pressing it into the wound. Her body was burning with the heat of her exertions but the blood on her shirt had cooled noticeably in the cool air, creating a mix of sensations that seemed to shock his brain.

Blood.

In the past year he had seen more than he ever had in the CIA. It never really shocked him anymore, though, and it was to be expected in the missions he accepted. He was constantly getting the wet work.

He had overheard Jean speaking to Lorenzo once about how they had a new fixer to replace Lauro, and from what Michael had heard, Lauro's work mainly entailed taking the final step in "negotiating" with informants and people who seemed to be in the agency's way. That he was a right bastard in the process never seemed to enter anyone's mind. About the only thing of note that he had received from anyone was a warning from Jose to never lose sight of how important Jamie was.

Now... Now his hands were covered with Jamie's blood, and while it certainly was not the first time, it had never felt as alive as this moment. It was warm but cooling rapidly as it touched the air, and it was this noticeable contrast of sensation in his hand that changed something.

She was crying. Her tears began to run down her cheeks as she held the broken remains of her guitar- the neck- in one hand. Her main outlet for all of her emotions was now lying in ruins before her, covered in the blood of some man she was forced to kill in order to protect him.

"Jamie... What happened?"

"I fucked up."

Her use of profanity was a shock and spoke of how badly she felt that she had failed.

"I grabbed the wrong case this morning. I had packed my Walther and the H&K in it and set it down by the dresser last night. This morning I was occupied by what I was planning for you, so when I grabbed the case by the door, I didn't realize it was the wrong one. I made it worse by not checking it before I left the van."

"It can happen to anyone." And it had happened to him once, though he had never needed the bag of phone taps that he had mistakenly forgotten in favor of C-4 bricks.

"Not to me! I'm smarter than that."

He could feel her anger at herself.

"Then when I realized my mistake, it was too late. He got a shot off at me before I could get into a close-quarters defense. I broke the slide off of his gun when I disarmed and killed him, so the only thing I had left to use to help you was my guitar."

"I'm sorry. I know how much it meant to you."

Jamie huffed at the irony in the statement. "Only now do you see..."

"What?"

Her eyes met his and the force of her look nearly knocked him down. There was hatred there again, but this time it wasn't the dark side of Jamie that was behind it. It was Jamie's own anger that was boring into his soul.

"It's all your fault, Michael. You don't know how much it pains me to say that to you, but I love you too much to keep quiet anymore. The only reason we are sitting in this alley, bleeding, is because of the way you have been acting. You have been sulking in your troubles, pushing away any and all attempts to help you in the hopes that some bastard would get lucky enough to put a hole through your head and end it all."

She brushed his hand from her wound and held the bandage there herself, pushing him away physically with her free hand.

"Today was an attempt to help you remember that you are still as noble and patriotic as you have ever been. I was hoping the American meal would spark that feeling of home inside you and help to fix the problem, but I guess there's no helping someone who is hell-bent on destroying themselves. I realize now that there is one aspect about life that I have a better grasp on than you do."

The blue eyes met his again.

"When you force yourself to remain in that deep hole you've been in, you're only burdening the ones who care about you. Others have made sacrifices for you and you refuse to notice, and I have tried and tried to help you out of that place but you would not listen. How much more do we have to give up for you, Michael, before you get it?"

Tears dripped from her chin.

"How much more do I have to suffer before you realize that I love you, and that I can't live with you ignoring my efforts to help you to live?"

The halls in the hospital were quiet at the late hour, an hour that Michael could only determine by glancing at the clock on the wall. Why was it that the mind drifts philosophically in the middle of the night?

The doctors had finished patching Jamie's wound up at around ten, the end of a five hour process of delicate wires, stainless-steel tools, artificial muscle, and skin grafts that Michael had watched with an impassive face and aching heart. Her body had taken yet another injury because of his actions, her lifespan shortened again, and he had overheard one of the technicians mention that she was on the "short list". He had never heard of such a list, though its ominous sounding nature made him sure that the Belisario and the other neurologists had one.

Its implications were painfully clear: Jamie was dying.

Angelica had fallen when her mind had lost its ability to control her body. She had been wrought with injuries and chemical dependencies for quite some time, and even if Jamie was a major step forward from the first cyborg, she was still a young woman in a mechanical body.

"You're here late, Christiansen."

Michael turned from where he had been resting his head on his arm against the recovery-room window, sizing Belisario up with practiced eyes and noticing the fatigue starting to take hold of the man. Answers would come easier than normal...

"I can't sleep after what I did."

"I see." The doctor settled into the bench-seat, flipping through the chart in his hand.

"I've been so stuck on myself lately. The pain inside has been the only thing I could feel, and yet I can only understand that by looking at it in hindsight."

"Depression is like that sometimes. The mind blocks out many other things and emotions are sometimes the first to go. You shouldn't feel bad about it, especially now after you understand it. What is important now is how you deal with the effects of your actions."

"You mean Jamie."

Belisario closed the chart and set it aside, thoughtfully stroking his moustache. "Yes. We did another scan this evening before the surgery and found some more changes in her brainwave patterns."

"She's almost back to her old self." Michael could feel that.

"Yes. Well, from a technical standpoint that's true. Her personality is quite different though, and it's because of the way she has been integrating her older life into the new one. I have been amazed at the way she is doing it, and have to admit that I was doubtful that a cyborg could successfully integrate their lives together. Jamie has been doing so, and that's why I have been recommending that it be allowed to happen. She has become stronger because of it, not weaker, something that gives us hope for how the third generation designs will fare."

"Hmm."

"But her strength comes at a cost..."

"The 'short list'?" Michael chided himself mentally for asking about it so soon- another sign that he was pretty tired himself. Belisario seemed to shrug off any shock he might have had at Michael knowing about it.

"That's not something you need to be concerned with."

"Really?" His eyes met the bald mans' and Michael felt the deception in his mind. "She's been injured numerous times, her mind is in shambles, and her conditioning is nearly useless... Everything I know about the cyborgs tells me that these are the signs of the end. You're the one who told me to watch out for such symptoms, so I'm asking you a direct question, as a handler, and man to man if it makes any difference. Is Jamie going to die?"

Belisario stood and stepped to the glass, gazing at the resting form of Jamie, a work of art in every sense of the word, and one he was genuinely proud of.

"We're all dying, Christiansen. From the day of our birth we are dying. These girls have been given a reprieve from their inevitable death, not salvation from it. What we have done here with technology is no different than those few days you bought her in Paris, at least in the long run."

"That's not an answer."

"It's all the answer I can give. I can't tell you when it will end for her, or for any of them. I can tell you when one cyborg is starting to fail, when another is becoming forgetful, and even give an approximate time for both, but it's never certain. Angelica held on to life in ways we could not imagine possible, and even knowing the time was near, I could not tell Marco when. It's not within my power, nor is it my responsibility."

He turned and started back to his office, having discussed it enough for one day, but Michael could not be left in suspense.

"Hey!"

The angry yell received Belisario's attention from over his shoulder.

"Is she on the short list?"

The sound of a deep breath and its release was the only thing to be heard in the hall.

"Yes. So are many of the first generation cyborgs. Maria was just taken off of it..." He could feel Michael's confusion at the mention of a cyborg being removed from it. "The short list is just that, a short list. We have a very finite amount of time in which we can monitor the cyborgs, and then discuss and devise repairs or fixes to what we think might be problems. To maximize the value of such time, we focus on a small list of cyborgs at a time.

Maria's problems had her on the list from almost day one, but since she started to develop into her body and role, she has been removed from it. Jamie has been on the list since the bombing in Rome, initially for observation, but her actions since then have made us focus on her more. The list is not something to worry about."

He began to walk away but another thought hit him and it seemed an appropriate reminder to give.

"Just the same... If you care about her, you shouldn't waste any more of the time you have left. What you do is dangerous and there is no guarantee from day to day."

Michael looked again at the sleeping form in the bed. She had always been on borrowed time and he had wasted weeks of it in a cruel manner.

"Weeks we just don't have."

Warm sunlight filtered in through the window to stir Jamie from her fitful sleep. There was a healing strength in the rays, a strength that slowly seeped through her tired limbs as her first full day out of the hospital began. The damaged areas were repaired and the newer nano-tech skin-grafting technique made for a near-perfect repair to the silky smoothness of her skin, but the feeling of the injury remained with her.

Even as she stretched in front of the mirror she could feel the nerves tingling halfway down her left side, a sign that some of them were still damaged from where the bullet had ripped through them.

"Ugh..."

She looked at Maria's tired face in the mirror, her hair a mess from her own tossing and turning in the night.

"Morning, Maria."

The younger girl looked around with tired eyes and smiled at Jamie. "Good morning. What's for breakfast?"

"I don't know. Does it really matter?" Jamie smiled and went back to her stretches in the mirror, flexing her arms and torso in an attempt to find anything else that might be hurting.

"Not really."

Maria slipped from her bed and into her sweats for her morning run, trying to get a head start on Jamie's own exercise. Her relationship with Mario had become closer since she had forced her way in to see him, pouring her aching heart out on him and successfully breaking him of the depression he had been suffering through.

She stopped to wrap her arms around Jamie and hug her in a sign of their warm friendship- a sign Jamie knew was a friendly 'thank you' from the girl for her help.

"You're welcome."

"I'll see you at breakfast."

Jamie was alone again, so she let her eyes wander to the empty guitar stand next to her bed. She had really needed it while she had been recovering in the hospital, but now her heart positively ached for release through its strings. The pained expression on the face in the mirror pulled her back and reminded her that Michael was well again, so its sacrifice had not been in vain.

He had been there almost every day she had been in the hospital and his own aching from his heavily bruised ribs prevented him from leaving too soon after he sat down. In the time they spent together, they had managed to get back into a warmer relationship. They had both been adults about their feelings, finding common ground once again and pulling closer because of it. It was this change for the better that made her curious as to why he had avoided her the previous day.

As she started her morning run she thought about his actions, and as hard as she tried, she could not figure out why he had skipped out on her. By the sixth kilometer, she had come to the conclusion that he was certainly back to his normal self in that he was doing things in secret once again.

She met up with Claes and Maria as she closed in on her tenth kilometer, passing them by at first with her long legs and constant cadence, and then slowed to a less stressful pace to allow them to catch up with her. When they finally stopped in front of the dorms she had to wait for them to catch their breath to speak, perhaps reveling a bit in her stamina advantage over them.

"That was- a bit tougher." Maria had just started running her six kilometers and Claes was straining to keep up at the pace. It had been a whimsical decision on her part, one she now questioned after seeing the way the older girls could put her to shame.

"Are you okay, Claes?"

"Yes. I'm just a bit winded, that's all." She sat down on the wall of her garden and glanced over the empty space, thinking about what she was going to plant in the upcoming spring and where. The simpler pursuits were her fare now.

"By the way, Jamie, we saw Michael pull in when we passed by the gate. He went into the handlers' dorm carrying some stuff."

"Oh?" Jamie looked towards the building, hardly needing any contemplation on her next move. "Don't wait up for me on breakfast. I'll catch up with you later on, okay?"

The two watched her run towards the dorm at her top speed and Maria flashed a smile after her hopeless friend. "A girl in love..."

Claes only shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

Michael's voice sounded normal when she knocked on his door, his voice strong and clear as he bid her to enter.

"Good morning, Michael."

"Good morning." His eyes scanned over her in his habitual way, gleaning any bit of information he could from her before getting past the pleasantries. "You look tired."

"I just finished my ten-kay. I came straight here afterwards, sorry." She had to admit that she certainly smelled like sweat, a state that the more feminine part of her personality was self-conscious of.

"It's okay. I'm glad to see you exercising after the hospital time."

His hands shuffled some papers from one place on his desk to another and it saddened her that he was bringing the work home with him, though with the time they had invested in the ruse, she could understand his efforts to catch back up. Still, he really did not have to make up much, as Ferro had been carefully coordinating everything so as to lose as little time as possible.

"I talked to Bianchi this morning..."

Jamie looked away to try to hide the annoyance that her face betrayed over the troubles she had in her evaluation two days before. "What did he say?"

"He said you're having some trouble with your weapons."

"Bianchi said that, huh?" She closed her eyes and took a few breaths to calm a sudden anxiety she felt. It was a feeling that had been occurring since she had awoken from surgery, and it seemed most pronounced when she tried to pick up her guns.

"Yeah. It seemed important enough to warrant telling me."

"It is." The bed was comfortable enough so she sat down on the edge nearest him. "I can't pick up my guns. My hands tremble uncontrollably whenever I try."

"What did Bianchi say about it?"

There was a heavy sigh from Jamie as she released a bit of her stress in the one place she could do so freely. "He said it was in my head. That I'm just not interested in fighting through the failure I perceive in my mistake."

Michael turned to look at her out of concern. He trusted her to be strong enough to work through it herself, but the struggle he could feel from her made it clear that she needed his help. The next forty-eight hours depended on her strength and there was no way she could find it fast enough with the empty places in her head.

Belisario had found one of the major sticking points with another subconscious test and had recommended that Michael fix the problem as soon as possible, lest the girl start listening to the other voice in her head.

"Jamie... There is something I need to tell you." His voice spoke of something very serious so she looked him in the eyes, but his eyes were averted down at the floor, a look of pain and shame on his face.

"What is it?"

"It's... Um, remember when you asked me why I was avenging you and your friends, and how I said it was because no one else would?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's not the only reason." He had managed to get the ball rolling, but now he had to get it all out before it ate at him anymore. "The reason is more personal than that."

"Is it because of Emmy's sister?"

"No. It's because of me and something I did."

A chill ran through Jamie and she felt the familiar stirrings of the woman inside her mind, the faint echo of her warnings that Michael could not be trusted. "Please tell me."

"Well... Well, I guess there's no easy way to say it." Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as if to begin purging himself of something he had been suffering from inside. His eyes opened again and Jamie felt a dark and burdened sincerity flow out from him. "I set you and your friends up."

Jamie blinked twice, feeling as if her heart stopped and refused to continue beating. She silently mouthed the word 'what', unable to find the breath to speak aloud.

"I sent you to that club on purpose." He had to force himself to swallow- the look from Jamie making it difficult to continue on, but the knowledge that it had to be spelled out entirely forced him on. "I was paid to send you there, by someone representing Amherst and company."

"Michael... Michael what-"

"Let me finish, Jamie, while I can." He had to summon up more courage for the rest, but the hard part was probably behind him, he hoped. "I was in a tight spot with my money, you know. I was barely making the rent, barely able to afford to eat, so when this guy comes up and says that he'd pay me to nudge people towards the club, I naturally thought it was a good thing. I dealt with a lot of tourists so it was only natural that I would be able to send some that way. What was it to me, you know? It's a club, some people like it, and there really wasn't anything in my mind that said it might be something I didn't want involved in."

Michael's eyes had moistened as he talked and a part of Jamie told her that he was feeling an intense shame at how foolish he had been.

"So, I sent people there. Mostly adults, but there were a few young women, and I should have been suspicious that the guy said the club preferred the younger ones. I just figured it was the Goth generation, or something like that. It went on for a few months, getting an extra fifty or hundred a week, depending on how many I honestly claimed I sent, and I never considered that something was wrong with it all."

His voice cracked with the last words and a tear slipped from his control to roll down his cheek and drip from his chin. Between his pain and his words, Jamie could only sit in a stunned silence and continue to listen to the details of his betrayal of her and her friends.

"Jamie, I swear to God that I didn't know what was going on. It's easy for me to look back now and connect the string of rapes and killings to what I, and possibly others, were unintentionally doing. It all hit me after I found you bleeding in that warehouse and went on to the hospital, and I felt so stupid at how I had let myself be used. What happened to you and your friends is my fault, Jamie, whether I meant for it to happen or not. There is no way I can hope for forgiveness- not from you or anyone. It sounds selfish, but I'm killing them for how they used me as much as for you and Carol and Angela."

There was only silence from the woman across from him, and somehow that seemed worse than any other reaction she might have had. He could not tell whether she was angry, or withdrawing further, or anything else, and that frightened him. She was faced with information that contradicted everything she felt and had been programmed with, so where she would come down was anyone's guess, but he was certain that this revelation was going to be a make or break matter for her.

Jamie would either become stronger from it, or she would die... and so would he.

"Jamie. Jamie, say something please?"

When the eyes flashed back up from the floor they were the eyes of a victim, the woman she became that night in Paris. Her body trembled from a cocktail of anger, anguish, fear, and sadness, and her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, as if what she had to say could never be uttered aloud.

"Jamie-" He reached out to touch her arm and the act served to sever her from her silence.

"Get away from me!"

Michael's ears were assaulted by the loudness of her scream, the pain almost as bad as the sting of her hand as she slapped his away. She lurched to her feet and took two steps before doubling over, her knees collapsing beneath her and her body shaking terribly even as she continued to crawl her way towards the door.

At first Michael thought it was the conditioning taking hold once again, but something told him that it was not. It was the breakdown of the separation within her mind; similar to the night she had killed that Martin guy outside of Paris. Her mind was being deluged in memories and sensations that she was powerless to stop.

"Jamie, let me-"

"Shut up!" She somehow managed to stand on shaky legs, holding her stomach with one arm while sticking her other out to keep him at a distance. She was fighting to keep control of her body in order to give a threat less opportunity. Michael was the threat, he understood from the look in her eyes, a threat she only wanted to get away from.

"Please..."

Her body shook with a tremor as she summoned strength from deep inside. "Stay away from me, Michael Christiansen. Stay away or I will hurt you."

He could read a considerable amount of confusion in her eyes, but there was a determination to no longer be a victim that was overpowering it, and this was driving her.

"I'm sorry."

His apology did not faze her in the least. "That means less than nothing to me now, Michael. I've been with you through all of this thing you thought would be a life, and yet you were lying to me through most of it. I trusted in you to do right by me- to protect me, and to guide me. And even in the moments that we failed each other, I _knew_ that we were trying our best."

The strength within her surged for what Michael knew was the final word on the matter.

"There is no longer any trust, Michael. It can't exist within me anymore, and in that you have violated me worse than they did."

She slammed the door behind her, providing a somewhat welcome wall between the focused anger and his heart. He sat down on the bed, running his hand through his hair and thinking of her words, and how true they really were.

What was he asked before? What would he do when she finally found out what part he had played... or something like that. The question was more accurately phrased as what would she do to him when she found out. Events were moving rapidly along and he had to have her ready to meet them face-to-face, so the decision to confront her with the truth was one made with relatively good intentions in mind. The risks seemed worth it, but her actual reaction was not something that would be easy to fix.

Maybe he had counted on her love too much.

Chapter 34

The light had long started to fade from the pre-spring sky, and the reddish hues that tinted the clouds promised another fine day the next- sights and thoughts that were observed and discarded in the troubled mind of a young woman as she continued running the long series of roads that circled the agency campus. Normally it would have been worth stopping for a moment to enjoy the view, but not today.

Today she only felt the desire to run away.

Michael had betrayed her. There was no other way to put it, and in that there was a desire to leave everything behind and make her own way in life. It had even occurred to her to jump the fence and take off, and to live as long as she could on the run. It would be a challenge, but the things she had endured in both of her lives had made her strong and quick witted, and the test would be in how long she could go before they caught up.

But those ideas were only her mind's way of imagining a possibility in favor of calming her down. There was no way she could escape entirely, not with her dependencies and that damn tracking device in her head. She could never sleep soundly for fear of being caught off-guard, and even the long run she was pushing herself in reminded her that she simply could not run forever without a rest.

And then there was Michael. The man did not know how to stop. He would continue pursuing her, unceasing and inevitably towards her recapture. He had tracked her in Paris and she had been entirely oblivious in spite of her training and careful eyes watching for such a follower. Her skills were no match for his, not to mention that he knew how she thought and had taught her how to do everything. He knew where her weak points were, where her strong points were, and exactly how to strike at her.

Jamie paused in her run, slowing to a stop and hunching over, hands on her knees and lungs gasping for air. She could feel every muscle in her body aching, the dull burn telling her that they had been pushed harder than before, and she had been running for hours straight, marathon distance, with her only companion being a long-empty water bottle.

It wasn't a matter of being a runner junkie, but of her seeking for the feeling of escape. Her hands felt weak from her lack of playing on her guitar, so the rest of her body felt like doing something else to compensate.

The road ahead was darkening in the dusk and she knew she had to go back. She was thirsty, hungry, sweaty, and so very tired. Maybe that was what she was looking for- a physical feeling to match her emotional and intellectual feelings.

If that were the case, she was now feeling it.

It didn't matter though, because no matter how tired she was there were still a few miles more to go to get back, and she had to finish it.

The car was easy to hear with her earplugs out, and its approach as she was closing in on a single mile remaining made her slow her pace in order to be easier seen in the darkness that had fallen. The headlights approached and slowed as they gave her space on the road, and Jamie finally recognized it as Priscilla's Beetle, perhaps the least offensive person she could think of at the moment.

"Hey!" The older woman slowed and paced Jamie as she settled into a fast walk to cool down.

"Hey."

"How far have you gone?"

"Almost four hours...about twenty-eight or thirty miles."

"Wow!"

Priscilla dug around in her car, swerving a bit as she did so, and quickly stretched an arm out the window with a fresh bottle of water. Jamie took it without hesitation and took a large mouthful, holding in her parched mouth for almost a minute before slowly swallowing it.

"You look tired, Jamie."

"I _am_ tired."

As if to punctuate the statement, her foot caught on a hump in the asphalt, causing her to stumble forward. She managed to stay on her feet and continue on, though, under the worried look of a friend. The water had given her some more strength, and she felt enough of it to believe in her ability to finish the last mile.

"Would you like a ride back?"

"No. I want to finish this run."

"Okay," said Priscilla with a resigned look. "I'll just stick here with you in case you change your mind."

Michael had sent her, Jamie could tell by Priscilla's tone as she tried to cover something up. She always had terrible duplicity.

"What about you? Are you just out for a drive?" Jamie picked up the pace a bit to a steady jog.

"Err...Sort of." The words trailed off for twenty yards or so. "Actually, Michael sent me out to find you. He was worried that you did not come back for dinner."

"That's nice."

She started running faster out of irritation, forcing Priscilla to actually give the car some gas to keep up, rather than letting the engine idle.

"He said we should talk."

"Why? Is he too much of a coward to do it himself?"

"He doesn't want to hurt you any more."

"Why not? He seems to take a perverse pleasure in it."

Priscilla swerved the car closer and grabbed her arm, yanking Jamie to a stop as she slammed on the brakes. Jamie glared at the woman and forced her instinctive response to fight back down where she could control it.

"Is that what you think?" Her tone was sharp and put forth to show Jamie just who was the grown-up in the conversation. Their eyes leveled on the field of battle and even with Jamie's height advantage, the blonde was not going to back down.

"You know what he did?"

"Everybody knows what he did back then. Hell, the hard part was getting him to shut up about it!" She leaned against her car and looked around at the blackness that was engulfing the evening. Jamie could not know what Michael had been like after he first joined the agency, and that lack of knowledge was perhaps the one thing that Jamie needed to understand him like Priscilla could.

"Jamie, Michael could not live with himself if he had been purposely hurting you like that. When he first joined up and started to grasp what it was the two of you would be doing, he began to worry about how well he would be able to 'help you', as he put it."

Jamie gave a disbelieving look but it vanished just as quickly when she read the sincerity in Priscilla's face.

"He said that?"

"Yes. He has never viewed you as a tool or someone to do his work for him. It's what sets him apart from everyone else here, Jamie, and you know him well enough that you know it's something he has stuck to and is proud of. It's why he can't see the ways in which he's changed since coming here- because the focal point of his heart has not changed."

Jamie didn't respond, instead her mind worked the idea around inside, fitting yet another aspect of Michael Christiansen in to the puzzle that she could not solve.

"He loves you, Jamie. His heart has always wanted what was best, even from that moment you coughed a desperate breath in that warehouse. It's his nature, just as your determination is part of yours. When he took charge of you then, he knew in his heart that he was in it forever. For most men that is a frightening thing to face, but he never, ever, shied away from it, and you know it."

"You're saying that what he did wasn't wrong?"

"No- No of course it was wrong. He made a mistake, Jamie. He was trying so hard to keep you developing into your own person that he lost sight of how much the truth can hurt. I know he's struggled to decide when to tell you. I also know that it has been hurting him inside as the consequences of telling you have become more overwhelming by the day."

Priscilla could see that Jamie was thinking beyond her anger now, and it was all Michael had asked Priscilla to assist with.

"He's human, Jamie, the same as you. Everyone makes mistakes, many of then hurt like Hell at the time, but the ones that have to simmer for a long time are the worst. He hates himself now for having held that information from you. He hates that you no longer feel you can trust him. And he hates the fact that he has hurt you so much that he has to hope to God that you'll forgive him for it all. Through all of that hatred he has for himself, he still has love for you, and he's hoping you'll understand that."

A cold breeze picked up and made Jamie shiver in her damp clothes, giving her another reason to just accept everything and get in the car. But there was a part of her that said she needed time still, and that the time was worth a little suffering.

"I need to think on this. Thank you for coming out and speaking with me."

Jamie began to run again, this time back the way she had come. She needed more time and it seemed like the best way was to run another full lap of the compound. She could hear Priscilla dial her phone behind her, the sharp tones being carried on the wind and the tones telling Jamie whose number she had dialed. It wasn't as if she couldn't guess anyway, but the woman's words that followed the tones told her enough about how much pain and fear Michael had in order to ask someone else to come out for him-

"...No, Michael, and... I'm sorry."

She had fallen asleep in the shower, Jamie realized, and the tile-floor awakening she had received complemented the aching feel in her muscles as they began to stiffen up from the hard exercise, the result of which made her struggle up the flights of stairs with an off-balance sway. Her towel came in handy at the top when her exhaustion hit hard and only a quick flip of the towel around the banister had saved her from a long set of steps and the associated embarrassment.

She regained her footing after a moment of gasped breaths and flipped the towel onto her head, fluffing a bit more of the dampness from it as she blindly opened the door and stepped inside her room. The reading light had been visible from under the door so she had naturally assumed that Maria was still awake.

"I'm back."

There was an uncomfortable silence that made her hair rise a bit, or at least enough so that she flipped the towel off her head to see what was wrong. Her eyes came to rest on Michael, who was patiently waiting for her in the desk chair, and had a face as sad and lonely as the one she'd seen the day Tanya was killed.

There were no words worthy of speaking in her mind. She really could not say that she was thinking anything, either. It was as if the moment had wiped her entire mind blank in the unexpected shock of the situation. The heated feelings of the day, along with the strenuous exercise, had left her emotionally empty to the point that a reaction was not available.

A minute passed, and then two, before she finally managed to focus on the fact that her roommate was not around. She clicked the door closed and stepped past Michael to her clothes hamper, dropping her sweaty clothes inside with the rest of her laundry, and then placing a post-it note from the desk on it to remind her to do her wash.

"Where's Maria?"

If her decision to converse surprised him, he did not show it. His tone suggested that he was as drained as she. "Mario took her out for the weekend to help with her recovery."

"I see. Did she let you in?"

"No, I let myself in. I'm sorry."

The apology did not warrant a response, so none was given as she pulled her pajamas from the dresser, turned her back to him, and slipped the robe from her shoulders. A glance at Michael found him looking at Maria's side of the room, seemingly in a tired sort of daze and entirely oblivious to the now-naked young woman near him. Her clothes were pulled on quickly and she settled onto the bed next to a large box he had evidently brought with him.

"What is this?"

"Hm?" He gave her a confused look until his eyes landed on the box she was quietly tapping. "Oh. Those belong to you."

Jamie was curious at this odd behavior from him, so she pulled off the top of the box and pulled out a battered notebook, one of numerous identical pieces that were inside. She flipped open to a random page and glanced at the writing, feeling out of sorts as she recognized it as her own.

"This-"

"Those are your diaries from your life. They were given to me when you were still being trained to walk and talk again, and I have kept them safe in the hopes that I could understand, and maybe even rebuild, the woman you used to be." He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, letting the world slip from his shoulders for a few moments. "But in that I was wrong. You're not Janet Wells anymore. Parts of her live on within you, but hoping that you would go back to being that girl was nothing but the selfishness of a guilt-ridden man. I was hoping that- If I could only get the woman you used to be back, in whole, that I could somehow explain everything, and then be granted a meaningful forgiveness." His sad eyes moved to her briefly before returning forward for his next admission. " 'If only you were her, the words and meaning would be real', I thought."

"You think that, because I'm a cyborg and have a different personality, that I can't grant you that forgiveness?"

"At this point, Jamie, I don't think anyone can. Maybe you were right. Maybe there really is no forgiveness in the larger scheme of things."

Jamie put the book back in the box and set it gently on the floor before stretching out on her bed, pondering the thought for several moments.

"If that's the truth of existence, then what is love?"

"Love is an anchor that drowns a man."

" 'Love is never having to say you're sorry'. In those words is the quintessential requirement that you must know someone, be so in tune with their emotions, that you know _that they know_ where your heart lies. To believe such a situation to even exist means being able to forgive, not just another, but one's own failings."

He thought about that one for a while as the silence continued to surround them both, and the warm, comfortable surroundings weighed heavily on their tired souls. Neither would fall asleep- Sleep was simply not possible until they had resolved their problems.

"Is it a matter of asking for your forgiveness?" Michael was asking for help in doing the right thing by her, as he simply was not sure what he should do to fix the problem.

"No. It's a matter of you figuring out whether or not you have earned my forgiveness through understanding. You have hurt me, Michael, and at a time that I really have no outlets for the many other pains that I feel." She gestured at the box with a sweep of her arm. "You've returned something to me and for that I am thankful, but it can't buy my heart."

"That wasn't my intention. I can't keep anything from you anymore, not after what I have done. In promoting your understanding of self beyond what the agency has wanted, I made you reliant on your own emotional and intellectual gifts, and I have been starving you of the things you need to grow in order to maintain some control over it. Maybe it's habit, maybe it's ego, but it happened and it was wrong."

"So..." She stared at him from the bed, her eyes still speaking the doubt she held deep inside. "Where does this leave us? You don't know how to regain my trust, and I don't know whether to believe you anyway."

"Yeah..."

There was another long pause while they both thought of any way they could salvage the situation but the gulf between them was too wide. There was nothing Michael could do or say that would assure her trust in him, and there was nothing she could say that would help him feel less guilty about his acts. They read each other and silently agreed that there would be no end at that time.

Michael stood and pulled on his coat for the walk to the handler dorm. "I guess I'll be going now."

"Okay." Jamie rolled from the bed and walked him to the door. There was a moment as she started to close the door when their eyes connected. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but Jamie felt nothing from it. The way her heart leapt was noticeably absent, the unconscious anticipation of it leaving her feeling empty inside as the door latched shut.

Her legs felt like rubber, her entire body and mind were empty of emotion, and the fatigue blinded her to her guitar case at the end of her bed and how it was laying flat and in her path. Her foot caught on it and she stumbled, catching herself with a quick hand on the bed before she could fall to the floor.

There was a stunned look on the face of the woman she saw in the mirror as her brain tried to filter out the extraneous information from what had just happened, working to bring forward what had tripped an alarm bell in her brain. She gave the case a kick with her foot and a resonate tone sounded after the thump, a nearly silent bit of noise that only her ears could have heard.

Jamie settled onto her knees and pulled the case to her, feeling it's heavier weight as it slid across the floor, and her heart quickened as her fingers popped the latches without conscious thought. The lid opened, and her heart stopped, as her eyes and memory seemed to conspire to drive her mad any way they could.

Inside the case was an acoustic guitar, well worn but functional, and pale-white in color. There was a faded pawnshop tag on the bottom near the strap pin, and a single button was missing from the pickup equalizer on the top. A pick was set between three of the strings and she pulled it out, holding it in her teeth as she brushed her thumb across the strings, feeling the warm and comforting tones as they wafted from the guitar, a guitar she knew better than anything else in the world.

It was _her_ guitar, the one she could never forget, and he had given it back to her without any conditions.

Somehow Jamie had found the strength to run again, stumbling a bit on the stairs but trying for all she was worth to ignore that and the cold wind that assaulted her as she crossed between the buildings to the handler dorm via the shortest route. Michael was just unlocking his door when she caught up with him, gasping for air and holding back tears.

"Where did you find it?"

Michael watched her to make sure she was in a condition to deal with the answer, but then figured that she had run the whole way for an answer, so she deserved one- the truth.

"It was given to me along with the diaries... By Carol's mother."

"Evelyn..." She choked off a sob that had escaped. "She was always so good to me."

"She loved you like her own daughter. She was in a lot of pain when I spoke to her, but she gave me your things in the hope that your words would help others in pain find their way, just as they had helped her."

"That's the truth?"

"God's truth, Jamie."

The tears refused to be contained any longer and she wiped them away furiously, trying hard to keep a controlled face. She had to know the rest. "You've kept it safe all this time? Why?"

"Because I knew that someday you would need it. I was scared to give it to you at first, but by the time I understood that what memories it would bring back were already there, you had become attached to the other one."

She finally looked up at him, not caring what weakness her eyes would reveal. "Why didn't you tell me in my room?"

"Because your happiness is not a bargaining chip. I returned it to you because I knew it would bring that warm smile back, even if we didn't fix our trust in each other." The door swung open and he stepped inside without looking back at her. "If I had handed it to you directly, you would have thought I was being less than sincere."

"Yes. Yes I would."

He waited a moment for that information to sink in, waiting for her to react in some way that he could work off of, but she was still stunned, so he decided it might be best if he called it a night. "Goodnight Jamie. Try to get some rest. We have a busy couple of days ahead."

Michael closed the door between them but Jamie could not let it go yet. Her heart, which had recently been so filled with rage and disappointment at him, now had only a longing to be beside him. Her fists slammed against the door as the tears poured from her eyes, sobs racking her body, and no longer having any trouble saying what she felt.

"Michael! Michael, I forgive you! I forgive you Michael. Please, let me stay with you. I don't want to be alone tonight!"

Michael listened to her cries from the other side of the door and hoped she wouldn't try to bust it in while he leaned against it. He kept telling himself that he needed some distance between them, and that feeling any form of attraction for her was wrong, but his heart was perhaps the new battleground. Her forgiveness had brought new life to a part of his soul that had been rotting away slowly, its putrid stench an irritation to him. He had felt less of a man because of it, and now that it was gone he could honestly feel worthy of her feelings again.

"Please, Michael." Her voice quieted and was barely audible through the door. "Please... We've wasted so much time already."

The words stabbed him through the heart, igniting the anguish he held over her short lifespan. It was his biggest regret now that the lies were behind him, and even as his mind questioned whether she knew that or not, his heart drove his hand to open the door.

Their eyes met, staring into each other's for long moments as they read the thoughts behind them, and Jamie realized she had been holding her breath, the long overdue exhale sending a tremble through her. Her hand reached out to touch his face, tracing the track of a tear he had been unable to contain.

"This really has been killing you inside."

"Yeah. Because I knew how much it would hurt you."

"I can see that now. I understand."

She closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the heavens, a deep breath and its release calming her tired soul once again. Things were clear to her again, and the lifting of the distractions set her mind free. She had not felt this way in some time, at least since she had last seen Tanya alive.

Her hand found his and the slightest of smiles formed on her lips. "Come with me, Michael."

She led him outside and back across the courtyard, up the stairs, and back into her room. He had started to sit down on the chair, but she waved him over to the bed where she had settled against the headboard with the guitar, deftly tuning it to perfection.

"I'm going to play for you, because it's the only way to tell you."

Michael settled onto the bed, stretching out across the width, really relaxing for the first time in he didn't know how long. He closed his eyes as she began to play a soft rhythm, picking the strings for a song he had never heard.

"_We're all guilty of the same things,_

_We think the thoughts whether or not we see them through._

_And I know that I have been forgiven,_

_And I just hope that you can forgive me too."_

The guitar's sound was unbelievable and Michael could not say that he had ever heard one so warm and inviting as the one Jamie now held in her hands. The notes invited his heart into hers- the instrument mirroring the soul of the player in every detail.

"_So don't you dare blame me for_

_Prying open the door_

_That's unleashed the bitterness_

_That's here in the midst of this_

_Sometimes we live for no one but ourselves._

_And what we've been striving for_

_Has turned into nothing more_

_Than bodies limp on the floor._

_Victims of falling short,_

_We kiss goodbye the cheek of our true love._

_Cause we're all guilty of the same things,_

_We think the thoughts whether or not we see them through._

_And I know that I have been forgiven,_

_And I just hope that you can forgive me too."_

Jamie ad-libbed a flourish ending, feeling her body relax in the familiar sound and feel of her guitar. It had played perfectly, just as it always had, and she knew that the song had come to her again because her heart had needed to say it.

"That was beautiful, Jamie." Michael's eyes had not opened since he had leaned back, but she knew he could not fall asleep while she played.

"Thanks... It was a little strange to play that like this, since it was originally a faster-paced song. I met Reliant K several years back and this song was one of my favorites, because it speaks of the forgiveness we should grant because we're guilty of the same things." She began to play again softly with no particular song in mind, letting the sound fill the room with the relaxing feel.

"Yeah." He turned his head to look at her, marveling inside at how strong and sure she looked now in spite of everything that had been happening between them. "You're beautiful like that, you know."

"Hm? Oh..." She blushed at his compliment but never wavered from her playing, but not knowing what to say. "Thank you."

They continued in silence for a while, just listening to the guitar, and basking in the quality time they could spend together once again. The time spent was worth more than gold to them, even if it contained no words.

Jamie was just beginning to nod off when a familiar sound met her ears, the metallic swishing sound echoing up the stairs and down the hall.

"Priscilla's coming. She's probably wanting to talk to you."

Michael sat up and went to the door, getting there just after Priscilla knocked softly. She seemed surprised that he had opened the door so quickly but brushed it off as she gave Jamie an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry to bother you two, but Mario just got back with a prisoner and wanted you to meet him in the cell block."

"A prisoner? I thought he was taking the weekend off."

The woman shrugged, "so did he, I imagine."

"Okay, I'll meet him down there. Thanks."

Priscilla looked past him to Jamie and waved. "I'm glad to see you two have patched things up again. Goodnight, Jamie."

"Goodnight."

Michael closed the door again and looked to his cyborg, his sister and friend. She slipped from the bed and walked to her dresser to start pulling some clothes out.

"You should stay and get some sleep, Jamie. We've got a lot of work to catch up on and I need you fresh and on the ball."

"Are you sure?" The question was from a woman who loved, her concern dripping from the words.

"Yeah. I'm sure it won't take long to deal with whatever Mario has for me."

"Okay. Don't get into any trouble without me."

He smiled as he stepped out the door, looking back at her as he closed it.

"Me? Trouble?"

Mario was waiting outside an interrogation room with Hilshire, the smoke from Mario's cigar curling lazily down the hall as it dissipated. It had a sweet smell that was not unpleasant and it reminded Michael of the pipe tobacco his grandfather smoked when he was a boy. It also reminded him that Mario only smoked that flavor when he had a successful mission. Maria was also there, staring into the room and clutching a bandage to her arm.

"You're back early. What happened?"

"We were heading out of town when this joker and his friends ran us off the road." He stuck a thumb past his shoulder at the man in the room who had been handcuffed behind his back to a chair. "It's the same bastards that hit us in Pisa. Maria was smart and took the offensive before they even got their car stopped. This is the only one she allowed to live, and it's only because he was dumb enough to surrender."

"Nice..." Michael could see Maria's face reflecting hatred in the window. "So what did you need me for?"

Mario pulled a shiny object from his pocket and held it out for Michael. "He had this on him, and Victor said you would want to deal with it."

A curious look crossed Michael's face as he held out his hand, but it was washed away by one of seething hatred as he flipped the Zippo lighter over in his hand and ran his thumb across the dragon emblem that was etched on the side. It was a unique design, only found in one place and in one way- killing ranking members of a certain Triad, one that had been peddling drugs in a market they shouldn't have.

"I see..." Another glance at the prisoner, "has he been filed yet?"

"No. We haven't made any official arrest. He's been quiet so far."

"Well then, I guess we can question him now." Michael walked to the door, pausing only to pull Maria's knife from its sheath, an act that did not faze her in the least. "I'll make him talk."

"Michael..." Hilshire's tone was a warning to not step too far beyond the line.

"I won't kill him."

The statement was made coldly, and with the neutral expression of a man beyond anger. Hilshire wouldn't place bets on what kind of condition the man would be in after it was all over, because he really didn't know.

The room was cold and plain- the same as any other interrogation room he had ever seen. Of some difference was a set of blinds that covered the one-way glass to the hallway, and these he closed in the interest of his image. It wouldn't do for the rank and file workers in the agency to know what he was capable of.

Michael glared at the man, his eyes evaluating what the man was likely to be able to withstand. His instincts were usually right on such things and he considered it to be a gift of sorts. The man looked up at him and read nothing, he could tell, and Michael almost had pity on the fool he was facing.

Almost.

"It's only to sooth my conscience in advance that I am telling you that you really should tell me everything. The answers that I want are worth a lot of pain and suffering on your part, and I am going to collect."

"Fuck you." He spat and Michael's shoe would need a cleaning. Michael refused to be baited, however, knowing full well that such a response meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

"Question One: Do you run into a lot of Triad guys in your work?" He held up the lighter for the man to see, knowing that he didn't have a clue as to where the thing originated. He only knew where he found it. The lack of response was answer enough for Michael who did not want an answer anyway.

"How about blonde CIA agents?"

The eyes came up again, this time with fear that Michael exploited by stepping closer, casually flipping the lid of the lighter open and closed rhythmically.

"Doing Amherst's dirty work has gotten a lot of people killed. More will be on the way to the morgue soon, of that you can be sure. But what I want to hear is how you caught up with her, where you took her, and where I can find any others involved that aren't already dead."

"I-I don't have to answer anything without a lawyer!"

Michael smiled, amused at the man's lack of understanding of just how serious Michael was.

"You are going to want to, believe me."

Michael picked up the knife and leaned close to his target, resting the point of the blade just below the eye.

"Don't sneeze." He dragged the point slowly down the cheek, letting the razor-sharp edge carve into flesh, but only enough to bleed and scar. The pain was nowhere near what would be needed to get answers, but Michael figured he would give the man a chance at least.

He still did not feel like talking, apparently, so the lighter came out. A yank of the head immobilized it in Michael's firm grip and the flame cauterized the wound, forcing a shrill scream from the man as flesh and hair burned under the flame only centimeters from his eye.

He flipped the lighter closed and sat down at the other end of the table with his notepad, certain from the look of pain on the man's face that answers would be coming now. With pathetic lackeys like this, you only needed to reinforce the idea that there were worse things than death available to a determined interrogator.

"Now then, back to the question..."


	17. Chapter 35 to 36

Chapter 35

It was quiet in the night. The wind was calm, the cold less bitter, and the clear sky kept the land in darkness under the new moon. All of this was but a side-note in Jamie's mind as she crept along on her belly, slowly inching forward in silence through the brush along the perimeter of the property.

It was a large estate, even for Italian standards, the perfect place for someone to hide out from prying eyes. The unfortunate thing about privacy is that there is always something coming along to shatter that image.

To that end, Jamie pulled her drag bag beside her and slipped the rifle from it slowly, working entirely by feel as she kept the patrolling guards in sight. They wore night-vision goggles, and the intel said they also had some thermal gear available. There was nothing she could do about the latter except keep as low to the cover as possible.

"_Long-arm, give me your sit-rep."_

Michael's voice was loud in her ear, making her cringe with an expectation of being discovered. She turned the volume of her earpiece down to the bottom audible level before responding.

"Long-arm is in position, setting up now. Have visual on three sentries, no primaries in sight yet."

"_Continue setup and stay weapons hold, we're still waiting on the others."_

"Weapons hold, roger."

She was tucked behind a small berm, a rooted ridge along the tree line that concealed everything except her head behind the riflescope, which she settled onto its bipod with the muzzle hanging over into the open. The silence would be shattered with the beckoning call of Death when she pulled the trigger, a thought that made her smile as she settled into the cheek-piece and worked the action slowly.

This was a mission. This was genuinely worth the effort and expense, and when the night was over, things would finally be finished. Amherst thought he was smart, hiding out in a quiet little town in a place owned by a friend from 'the industry', but he was about to get a government-funded wake-up call, one he would not live to speak of. Sure, there were things she wanted him to answer for, but in the end it was death, so why not do it now and get it over with?

"_Long-arm, team is four minutes out. Stand to."_

"Long-arm is on-target."

Jamie pulled the stock in tight and settled into her breathing cadence, calming her heart down to a manageable beat by relaxing everything except the requisite muscles. The crosshairs fell on the first target, the roaming guard that was walking a set path at a constant pace, making the shot easy to plan and score. He would probably see the muzzle flash and wonder what it was, but he would never know what went through his skull less than a second later.

The others would be alerted, of course, but they would fall to her rifle only seconds later, as they had nowhere to hide. They were just rental guards, of course, but they had the misfortune of guarding a wanted man and that was just how life was sometimes. They would die so that he would die, and that so many others would live. Such was the justification of the not-so-bad people.

Two minutes, by her mental clock. The team would be removing their straps and checking their weapons and gloves, making ready for a fast-rope deployment. They would be vulnerable as they dropped, and it was Jamie's responsibility as the sniper to cover them until they made it to the safety of the mansion, taking out anyone that raised a weapon in their direction.

"_Long-arm, one minute. Weapons free, fire at your discretion."_

"Roger that, weapons free, stand by."

The safety clicked off and her finger rested oh-so-softly against the trigger. She could hear the helicopter now, a Huey UH-1, the favored deployment aircraft of the agency, though she wished they would get some Blackhawks. The Huey made too much noise from the two-blade rotor, the sound bouncing between the nearby mountains and getting the guards' attention, even if it didn't alert them to the oncoming attack. To most people, a helicopter sounds like a helicopter, but that was hardly a guarantee of surprise.

Twenty seconds... it was about time. Her lip curled into a soft smile as she took aim at the guard.

"Here we go..."

One of the guards looked up in time to see the first one fall straight down, half of his head missing. There was a loud, sharp rifle report that was quickly followed by a sickening wet slap and thud right next to him. The man he had been chatting with on duty was dead at his feet, the blood soaking his pants and boots as it spurted from the gaping head wound. He had spent a tour in Iraq with the British army and there was a flash of understanding in his mind in an instant:

_A sniper..._

Jamie's third shot caught the man in the neck as he started to move, likely knowing what kind of trouble he was dealing with. A soldier's instincts are honed in battle, and where an experienced man would realize and move to cover, the fresh meat would simply stand there in shock, unknowingly waiting to die.

It was too bad, too. Good soldiers are just too hard to come by.

She could see that Michael was moving from the sound of the first shot, dashing into the pitch-black yard and tossing a blinking Infrared strobe light into the center of it. It was only visible in night-vision gear and would act as a reference point for the helo when it came to a hover to drop the teams.

"_Hotel One, this is Charlie Six: Deploy, deploy, deploy."_

"_Hotel One is deploy. Ten seconds, gentlemen..."_

Jamie could hear the rotor's wash whistling through the budding branches of the trees as it came in low, it's skids nearly touching the tops, and her eyes swept across the side of the house, watching for anything resembling movement that could indicate an attack.

The helo entered the yard and nosed back hard, the rotor's lift dragging the aircraft from forward flight and slamming back down to level just as quickly. A pair of girls slid down the ropes dropped from each side of the cabin, one letting go early and free-falling fifteen feet, knees bending to absorb the impact and rolling to her feet, sub-machinegun at the ready to cover the others as they touched down.

They split up into pairs to secure the landing zone and waited for the handlers to drop next, sliding down at a slower pace with the much safer rappelling gear. The men paired up with their cyborgs and split up to surround the building, blasted by the helo's wash as the pilot added collective and pulled away to circle the area.

"_Charlie Two and Three- Thermals show four persons in the kitchen area. Secure that area from the side entrance and proceed up the rear stairs. Charlie One and Four- Move in and secure the front stairs and living areas. More guards are known to be in that area. Keep it safe, keep it clean."_

"_One copies."_

"_Three copies."_

She could see the hand motions of the first team's handler, Jean she suspected, and the heavy door was kicked open with a resounding thud. A flash-bang fired and the teams moved in, shots from rifle and pistol alike indicating a furious moment of fighting. She could barely see into the interior of the entryway from her angle and the lack of real action made her tense with frustration. She wanted to be in there, too.

"_Long-arm, Charlie Three- We are pinned down in the rear hallway by a pair of guards. It's a covered walkway with glass on the south side. We need fire-support, immediately!" _Hilshire's voice sounded distressed enough to know he wasn't exaggerating.

"_Long-arm, Charlie Six. Get moving. There's a good position four-hundred meters to the south, behind the work shed."_

"Long-arm is moving!"

Jamie jumped up and folded the bipod, and then started to sprint as fast as she could, her hands carefully gripping the fresh magazine from her vest as she swapped it with the used one in the rifle. It was a lot tougher on the run but she managed, tucking the used one in the empty pocket and ducking under a tree branch that she nearly missed in her night-vision goggles. She could see the place Michael had mentioned through the trees bordering the clearing and it would only be another minute before she rounded the ridge and made it there.

Her right foot hit an animal burrow and she fell, her foot sinking and lodging into it as the rest of her landed hard on the cold ground. There was a sharp pain from it, but it faded as she pulled her foot out of the dirt and picked up the rifle from where it had smacked the ground. The sound of a firefight pushed her to move faster, working hard to ignore the limp and make it to the firing position as fast as possible.

"_Hilshire's hit! Damn it!"_

Triela's warning was painful to hear, Jamie's heart mirroring the pain the other girl was feeling as her handler was wounded. The sound of her shotgun seemed like artillery, booming away from an unknown distance, never ceasing.

"I'm almost there! Hang on, Triela!"

She jumped down the hill to the ledge Michael had seen, sliding down on her back and stopping at the base, her back planted in the soil as the rifle came up. Her left foot set against a large rock and her left arm rested on her knee for support, helping to steady the muzzle. A flick of the thumb clicked off the safety and her sights lined up on the first man she could see on the western side of the hallway.

"Long-arm is on-target. Confirm your position on the East side of the hallway."

"_East side, Long-arm. All friendlies are on the East side!"_

"Stand by..."

Jamie held a breath and fired, the recoil hammering her shoulder and lifting the muzzle because of her unsupported position. When the sights came back down she could see she had missed wide right, smashing the glass in the third window to the right.

She glanced at her scope and found what she had feared- a dent in the narrow part of the tube, just in front of the windage screw. The scope was ruined from the impact when it fell. There was no time to adjust it out, if it even would, so she pulled the pins and removed it, tossing it carelessly aside and flipping up her back-ups.

The range was only one hundred yards at most but without the optics it seemed like more than a mile. The open sights lined up and she fired again at the target before he could duck back into cover, the sound and stock pounding her as a dark splotch formed on the wall in the hallway. She flipped the bolt through its cycle and aimed again, waiting for the next man to show his face from the room he was cowering in.

There was a bit of movement from the right, her eyes quickly realizing it to be Triela's pigtails bouncing as she dashed past the room and lobbed a grenade in. It exploded a second later with fragments ripping through the walls of the room and shattering the glass in the hallway.

Jamie lifted her rifle from the target and watched Triela swing around the doorway to clear it with Maria as backup.

"_Triela here, hallway is secure. Continuing with second floor sweep."_

"_Charlie Six, Charlie Three. I'm okay- it's just a minor wound. I'll need some help out the door, though." _Jamie could see Mario helping Hilshire to the stairs, their motions typical for a leg-wound.

"_Hotel One- LZ is secure. You are cleared for pick-up. Long-arm, things have quieted down. Grab your gear and meet me at the front entrance. Good work."_ Michael sounded tired, the nights of planning and waiting weighing heavily on him.

"Copy, Long-arm is on stand-down. Thanks."

The helo landed in the same spot, guiding off the strobe that was still blinking away. The winds from it whipped Jamie's hair around as she walked around it's rotor-arc, and she switched her rifle to her left shoulder to free her right hand to brush the strands away. Michael was standing in the doorway, waiting for her.

"It's a cold night. Did you keep warm?" His desire to make small talk so soon after the mission meant that something was wrong. Things did not go as he had wanted them to.

Jamie shrugged and mounted the steps slowly, feeling her ankle throbbing but refusing to show weakness yet again. "Warm enough, I guess. I could have used my spotter beside me." The smile she gave told Michael that she meant him.

"I know. I didn't have any easy time tonight, though. Come in and warm up while we sort out this mess."

The helicopter's medic was tending to Hilshire's leg wound while two of the girls, Rico and Chiara, were guarding over a pair of surviving minions. Triela entered the scene from the stairs, stepping quickly over to Hilshire to check on his condition while Maria went to Michael and Mario to report in.

"Second floor secure. We've made a check of the bodies and have found no one that matches Amherst's description."

The men look between each other and read the same thought.

"Bad Intel..."

"It sure looks like it, Michael."

"I'm going to tear that limey fuck's balls off when we get back." The harsh word from Michael made Jamie's eyes snap up and around the room, instinctively looking for dangers.

"Let me know if you want help." Mario stepped to the front door to look out at the view, the sky just starting to lighten over the hills and fields. "There's got to be something here... I can feel it."

"Yeah." Michael could feel it too. Every instinct he had was telling him this was the right place for answers. "Jamie!"

The girl snapped to attention at Michael's loud command without thinking, still in her 'soldier' mode. "Sir!"

"Take Maria and search the entire house, room for room. I want every door checked. Look under desks and nightstands for hidden switches. Check behind dressers and inside closets. I want every inch of this place tossed until we find something worth looking at or shooting at. Use your instincts. If something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't."

"Yes, sir!"

Michael tossed his G36 over and she caught it with her free hand, and then she quickly put her rifle in the drag bag and unloaded her unnecessary equipment into her backpack, lightening her load.

"You ready?" Maria smiled at her friend, feeling strong and upbeat after a fairly successful mission.

"Yeah. Lets go."

The handlers watched their girls head up the stairs and disappear around the corner out of sight, both warmed by the strength they were showing. Hilshire waved to them as he was helped out the door by the medic and Triela, with tiny Chiara looking overwhelmed by the mass of gear she was carrying out for them.

Jean stepped over, pulling the phone from his ear and ending the call he had made.

"Ferro's on her way with the support team. They'll make sure this place is checked thoroughly for intel when they arrive. I'm heading back to the agency with Hilshire and the girls, so I'm leaving you in charge, Christiansen."

"Not a problem. I think we have everything pretty much in hand. There's something here that will lead us to him, and we're going to find it."

"In case the press or others show up, this was a drug raid. Ferro has the details."

"Okay."

Jean stopped at the door, hesitating in the words he felt obligated to say. "Christiansen, Greco... Be sure to tell your cyborgs how well they performed tonight."

The men looked at each other, unsure as to what was wrong with Jean that made him say such a thing, but he was gone before they could question it and Michael had to fight down a cold shiver that went through his body.

"That was strange."

"Yeah. I thought so too."

"Room clear!"

Jamie flicked off the room's light and joined Maria in the hallway, already bored with the search in the upstairs rooms. It would need some serious work from a maid after what she had done to it, but she was being thorough in the way that Michael taught her and that was all that mattered.

"Say, Jamie..."

"Hm?" Jamie opened the next door in the hallway, finding only a linen closet.

"Mario and I are heading for Miami, Florida next week to look into some Cosa Nostra connections there. It's something to do with the Sicily branch's connections to the FRF."

"That's great! Florida is a nice place. My family used to vacation there every few years or so."

"It's warm there, right?" Maria leaned against the wall as Jamie dug through the closet, looking for anything they might be interested in.

"Yes. All year long, as a matter of fact. It'll probably average out about seventy-five or eighty the whole time you're there. In the summer you can set your watch by the afternoon showers, but it should be dry this time of year."

Maria quickly made the calculations for the temperature conversion in her head, reminded once again that Jamie was an American at heart. "That's sounds great."

Jamie closed the closet and started towards the next room down the hall, her rifle up but lowered, only a half-second away from firing at a target. "What brought this up?"

"I'm just excited about it. It'll be my first time in America." Maria opened the door carefully, her La France covering the room as she felt for the switch. "I'm hoping to get a chance to go swimming in the ocean. Mario said it's as clear and blue as the sky."

"Well, it _is_ nice, but I personally think the Mediterranean is better." Jamie stepped to the far wall and started rooting through the contents of a closet in this guest room. "Have you picked out a swimsuit yet?"

"Er, no. Should I have?" She pulled a painting from the wall and glanced over the back, looking for a hidden document or something someone would tape there to hide.

"Well of course! How is Mario supposed to know that you really want to hit the beach if you don't drag him out to look for swimwear?" The closet was empty of anything but unused garment bags. She went to the bed next, flipping over the mattress to search it and the box spring.

"I guarantee you that I would be out with Michael, hitting every designer shop until I found one that drove him wild." Jamie smiled at the thought as the scene appeared in her head. "I would know he liked it because he would turn and look away uncomfortably. He has never been comfortable with my looking attractive because he fears that he might enjoy it."

"Is that why you've been wearing the skirts lately..."

Jamie finished searching her side of the room and nodded at Maria, following her out and shutting off the light. "Yep. When we were all dressed up in Paris, I could tell that he thought I was the most beautiful woman in the world. That feeling, knowing the man you love thinks you're the most beautiful, is the best feeling there is."

They had reached the back stairs, the place where the team had been pinned down. There were holes in the walls and floor where the enemy fire had landed, focused around the door to the room where Maria and the others had sought cover.

"So... What kind should I get?" Maria picked up the spent magazines from hers and the others' guns, putting them in her belt pouch.

"Swimsuit?"

"Yeah. What do you think of bikinis?"

"You're too skinny for bikinis. For a bikini to be an instrument of allure, you have to have a nice rack."

"I'm not trying to lure Mario in, Jamie. He's too old and doesn't see me like that." They started down the stairs, their attention now entirely off of their mission. "I'm just looking for something comfortable."

"One-piece it, then. Get one with a plunge back and a low-cut front, and maybe the high-cut legs. When it comes to males, the more you show, the more they're interested. This will keep Mario at a comfortable distance and the boys in striking range. Then you get to beat them off with a stick."

"Hmm..."

Jamie could see her friend thinking about it, and the girl-talk was easing the tension that had built during the battle, bleeding the stress away. Truth be told, Jamie envied her friend. A vacation in Miami, with warm weather and swimming, and her handler by her side... It was something Jamie wished she and Michael could share together.

"_Jamie, report."_

"We're at the back stairs and have completed a search of the second floor. No luck yet."

"_We're almost finished with the ground floor, same results. Go ahead and check the basement. The entrance is in the kitchen."_

"Acknowledged." She nodded at Maria, getting her mind back in the game. "Lets go."

The basement was neat and orderly, though musty smelling. The walls were stone and ancient mortar, a stark contrast to the modern mansion above, and Jamie found herself overcome with curiosity over it as she poked among the shelves of boxes and racks of wine. There was even a ring with some torches in it, long forgotten since the installation of a crude electrical lighting system.

"Creepy down here..." Maria shivered slightly as she peered into the blackness of a tunnel.

"Yeah." There was something else. It was a familiar feeling, one whose alarms she could not silence in her head. "I sense evil..."

"What?"

"Yeah... I feel it now. It's cold and slimy, and stinks of death. We're in the right place."

Maria watched her with a questioning look, not understand what was happening to her friend. "You're talking nonsense, Jamie."

"Trust in me." She found a blade switch for the tunnel lights, but nothing happened when she raised the lever. There were a few mini flares in her vest and she lit one, tossing it down the tunnel and realizing that it went a lot further than she thought. She keyed her radio.

"Michael, I think we may have found something down here."

"_What do you have?"_

"It's a tunnel, much older than the mansion. It looks like they built on top of an older foundation here to purposely keep it intact. It's got that feel to it. I need my night-vision gear to proceed."

"_Roger that. I'll be down in a few minutes. Michael out."_

Jamie ventured a few meters into the tunnel, listening carefully for any sounds that came from within. Maria tried to peer into the depths past the flare but it was dark and foreboding.

"That is really creepy."

"Are you afraid?"

The younger girl hesitated, afraid to admit weakness but knowing that her friend would understand and not hold it against her.

"It reminds me of the dark alleys in Madrid. They were filled with rapists and gangs of Latinos that were trying to take over the streets from our own gangs. A girl has only her wits to guide her."

"Not now." Jamie smiled, still looking into the depths and not feeling any fear. "Now you have strength and firepower on your side. And you have me."

"That's why you're my friend."

They turned as Michael's steps echoed down the stone stairway, his hands carrying three sets of NVG's.

"Archaeology or spelunking?"

"We'll have to wait and see."

The girls took the goggles and adjusted them on their heads, then checked the IR illuminators to make sure they were working. In pitch-black conditions, the goggles needed infrared light to be useful.

Michael was staring into the blackness, his hands flexing nervously. Jamie stepped next to him and touched her hand to his, lending the support of her love without actually holding his hand.

"You feel it too?"

"Yeah."

"Ready to face it together?"

"Absolutely."

The flare fizzled out and they switched on their night vision, walking slowly down the passage and remaining vigilant for traps of any sort that might be set. There were few cobwebs, and what there were looked small and recent, indicating that they were only three of the recent visitors to the place. The hallway stretched for some ways away from the mansion before it turned and sloped downward, traveling further into the depths of the earth.

"Mario, respond."

Michael had realized that they were in a radio dead-zone with all of the dirt and stone around them. If anything happened, they would be out of communication. The lack of response from Mario backed up the thought and Michael had to make a decision.

"Maria. I want you to go back to the basement and stay there to relay our messages."

"Go back? Alone?"

"Yeah. We've already been that way, so it's safe, right?"

She looked back at the corner that they had turned and then back at him, her visor's monocle hiding the scared look that he was sure was in her eyes.

"Err... Okay. I'll go."

Her voice lacked conviction so Jamie came to the rescue, patting her on the shoulder.

"Go on. Everything will be fine, I promise."

"I know. I'm just still a little off my game with courage, but I'll get there."

They watched her go, waiting until she turned the corner before they continued on through the eerie, green-imaged world. It narrowed to be only four feet in width and gave it the claustrophobic feeling that had been lacking to that point, but they pressed on. It widened again a few minutes later, but the smell and feel became even more foul, if that were possible.

Michael had a feeling of the tunnel changing time-periods, going further into history and perhaps with even more foreboding attached. There was a change in the tunnel ahead, an opening, and he approached carefully, unsure of what awaited them.

It was a skull.

"Well, that's the only thing that has been missing so far."

"What?" Jamie looked around his shoulder and caught sight of the object he had picked up. "Oh."

" 'Alas, poor Yorick... I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.'" -A bit of humor to burn off the accumulated stress.

"That's not funny."

Michael set it into the catacomb-style vault he had taken it from and continued on, seeing a door a bit further down.

"Catacombs... here?" Jamie was looking at the bones in the vaults, unsure as to whether to be aghast or indifferent.

"Who knows? Italy has been a hub of existence for millennia." He stopped at the door, a heavy, oak job who's metal shined in his NVG's. "What I find interesting is that there is recent activity. This door is fairly new."

There was the slightest rattle of a chain from the other side of the door, a sound Jamie easily picked up on and which sent a shiver through her. "There's something alive inside..." Her voice had dropped to a whisper and he felt her hand take his, grabbing onto it for security as her mind had lost all comfort with the situation.

"Lets get this door open."

Jamie marveled at his courage and let him pull from her grip to start picking the newer padlock that secured the door. His skill easily beat her own and the lock was open in only a few seconds, and he swung the door inward, pistol at the ready.

"Ready?"

"Yes." Her rifle was up, ready to fire on a threat if one dared to show itself. She followed Michael in but was quickly overwhelmed by the tone of the room.

It was an ancient torture room, modernized recently but still having the requisites for fear and death. A pillory, a rack, a bed of spikes... and numerous things Michael could not even recognize. There was a clean area set to the side where a camera tripod and pair of chairs were located. His illuminator flashed off of a brass cartridge casing and he picked it up, looking at it carefully and noting the bulls-eye shaped indentation in the spent primer.

"Beretta nine-millimeter..." His eyes looked around the floor and caught a few spots of blood spray at the edges of an area that looked like it had been mopped.

There was no doubt about it- this was the place his Tanya had been murdered in.

"Michael!"

He spun to see what Jamie had yelled about, his illuminator putting the wall beyond her in a black shadow. She dug in her pocket and pulled out a flare, and he pulled off his goggles just in time to avoid being blinded as she lit it. The orange light played throughout the room and revealed the lone figure that had been hidden in Jamie's shadow.

Michael stepped forward to get a better look in the flickering light, realizing that it was the body of a woman, chained to the wall and dressed in rags, her long blonde hair splotched with the crusted blood of many beatings.

His breath caught in his throat and his eyes seemed to play tricks on him once again. The hair covered the battered and bruised face, but he knew who it was.

"Tatyana!"

"Michael, she's-"

He rushed to her, blocking out everything but the joy in his heart that had lightened the darkness within him. His hands fumbled with the manacles but managed to get them off of the thin, delicate wrists. There was hardly any weight to speak of, so starved and hollow she felt, and he laid her down on the floor, his hands shaking as his eyes filled with tears at finding her alive.

"Help me, Jamie!"

Jamie's firm hand touched his shoulder gently; gentler than he ever thought possible, and she spoke with a sadness that he had not heard since she began to remember her friends.

"I'm sorry, Michael."

"Sorry? Jamie, it's Tanya! She's alive."

"No..." Jamie put her arm around his shoulders, leaning into him to provide the support she knew would be needed.

"Michael, this woman is not Tanya. I know you want it to be her, want it more than anything else, but Tanya is dead." She pulled the sticking hair from the bruised face, showing him the very thing she had been looking for after her own rational thinking had kicked back in. "This is just another in the long line of victims."

Michael looked again at the woman, his eyes uncovered to the truth, and he had to give the woman he loved away again to the reality he found himself entrenched in. It wasn't Tanya- just someone who looked sort of like her.

His eyes blinked away tears, his heart finding some bits of courage to cling to for the time being.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can see that now."

He glanced over the woman's body, noting several missing fingers on one hand, crudely cauterized and sewn. Her leg was broken in several places, the flesh bloated and purple, possibly gangrenous. Her ribs were on prominent display through her skin and her eyes lacked any signs of coherence of what was happening around her.

She was a shell of a human, alive but dead inside, and she needed help.

"Maria, respond."

There was a splash of static in the radio before Maria's voice came over, barely intelligible through the noise. _"Go ahead, I can barely hear you."_

"Run up and tell Mario that we have a survivor down here, and that we're going to need medical attention immediately. Do you copy?"

"_Need medical immediately for a survivor, confirm."_

"Yes. That is correct."

"_On my way now. Maria out."_

Michael picked the woman up in his arms and carried her to the door, pausing to look at the place where at least one person had met her end, and probably others, more than he could count.

"Jamie?"

"Yes?" She was beside him, lending him support.

"Thanks for being here with me."

She could hear the thoughts within his words. He wasn't just talking about that time and place, but of her being beside him for the past year, lending him strength and drawing it out of him as well, at times when it mattered the most. Maybe, just maybe, he had enough to move on.

Another hospital.

It seemed like there were so many things that had happened since he was last in a public hospital waiting room. The soft feminine form curled up against him on the couch, napping gently, was perhaps the only difference from that time in Paris, and his hand reached out to brush the strands of hair from her cheek, revealing a soft smile on her lips as she slept in a place of comfort.

"Mmm. Go back to bed, Maria. Breakfast will still be there in an hour."

Jamie's mumbling made him smile, perhaps the only smile of the day to come. There was a woman in serious condition who was fighting for survival. Beyond that was the likelihood of her having information that would lead him where he needed to go to prevent more senseless violence.

He wasn't just fighting for Jamie and her friends or Tanya. He was now fighting for the many people that had been killed or hurt by one man and his lackeys, and the increase in scale proved that the idea of vengeance being all-encompassing was possibly the only truth there was. Truly it was consuming everything about him and around him, dragging more and more people into the fray the longer it went on.

"Mm. Ferro's coming, Michael." Jamie's eyes opened slowly as she struggled to some fully awake.

"How long have you been awake?" He ran his hand through her hair, smoothing out the tufts that had gone stray during her nap.

"I wasn't really asleep. I was resting but I still had an ear tuned to the world."

"Oh?" He smiled again at her, knowing that she was lying. "Then why were you telling Maria to let you sleep?"

"Because she's always waking me up to be the first ones to breakfast. I never get to sleep in except when I'm with you."

He looked up to find Ferro there, just as Jamie had promised, ending the moment of levity with her serious look. He hated her for that.

"What's up?"

"Information from the mansion." Ferro waved the folder in her hand and set it down on the coffee table, then poured herself a cup of coffee from the courtesy center beside him.

"Anything turn up?" He glanced through the pages for the bold print, smiling inside as Jamie took an interest and read along side him.

"Plenty. We have the owner in custody. He arrived a few hours after you left and was surprised to find a team of soldiers waiting for him. I'm not sure how much he knows about Amherst, but we're going to find out. Lorenzo has already declined to give him any legal right, and Petris wants him put away without trial."

"Why is she taking such an interest?" High-rankers never took an interest in something as mundane as people harboring criminals.

"The man is a string-puller in the FRF political movement. He works behind the scenes to get sympathizers elected to local positions so he can influence them." Ferro sat down and actually relaxed her body, slouching slightly in the chair as she sipped her coffee. Michael could see how tired she was and realized that she had been on the run for almost two days straight, planning and arranging every aspect of their operation.

"I see. What can I say but 'whoops'?"

Her eyes actually sparkled when she looked at him again, the fatigue letting out at least a little of the respect she found in his instincts. She had come to realize that he made the right moves without even trying, and without even knowing what he was getting into. Instincts and luck: the true value of someone like Christiansen, were incredibly hard to find, even in their business where you needed some degree of either to even survive. He had them both in amounts that were sickening to behold, but it only applied to him. Everyone else around him was on their own and that was the source of much of his sadness- he watched people he cared for die because of his luck.

"Anyway, Lorenzo said to tell you 'good work', and that you can take a few days off before going back to our other mission. He wants it finished quickly."

"Okay."

"Mister Christiansen?"

A man in a suit had appeared in the doorway, one Michael could tell was an outsider to Italy. He stepped forward and offered a hand in greeting, which Michael took sitting down.

"Benjamin Kaufman, from Europol."

"Hello." Michael felt Jamie pull away and straighten, the entrance of a newcomer being regarded as a possible threat.

"I'm here regarding Daniela Sommers, the woman you recovered."

"That's her name?" Michael had been waiting to find out from the doctors, but this time it seemed that the regular authorities were on the ball. Ferro had also perked up, always attentive towards new information.

"Yes. She's one of our investigators that was assigned to the Amherst snuff-film case."

"I see. So if I might ask, what was she doing in Italy alone, following up on a case where numerous others had been caught and killed?"

"She was only supposed to be looking for leads-"

Michael cut him off, some anger building at the foolishness of the people he was trusting to bring pressure on Amherst.

"Don't give me that! You knew exactly who you were dealing with because I sent that information along. Even your own experience should have told you that Amherst watches intently for anyone coming after him."

He deflated, Michael saw, and it said a lot for how much responsibility the man was taking on himself. The refusal to look his accuser in the eyes told Michael that he was the one who had sent her, and that he was regretting the decision on an hourly basis.

"Yes, I should have known better."

There was silence for a minute as Michael let the guilt simmer. There was information to be gained, his instincts said, and it would be worth the wait.

"If you don't mind a few questions, maybe we can help each other here."

"Of course. We're at a dead end. We know where she last reported in and we know where she ended up, but we don't know where she was those six weeks. Her last report was from Milan and she said she was going underground for a while to pick up on a lead. She was a skilled undercover detective in Berlin and it was not uncommon for her to disappear for weeks while she established a cover."

"I see..." Michael now knew that Miss Daniela Sommers was experienced enough to know when she was in danger, but that thought came as little comfort as Tanya had been one of the best, and she had ended up worse off. "How many people knew she was going underground?"

"Oh, I'd have to say a handful. Six maybe. Myself, my chief, our operations person, our communications person... The German-Italian police liaison knew that she was in country and might call for something she needed. Those were the ones officially in the loop."

"Anyone else that might have known?" Michael sipped his cold coffee, wanting to tell Jamie to get him another but reluctant to break his mind from processing the information.

"Lots of people had some bits of information, though it was scattered and hard to put together. You probably know how that is."

"Yes, I do."

"Wait- There was someone else included. I didn't place any thought into it because it seemed fairly unrelated, but there was someone from the American government there. My impression was that he was DEA, inquiring as to whether there were any links of this case to the drugs coming out of Italy."

That caught Michael's interest. The DEA was pretty friendly with most police agencies around the world but they weren't often involved without a direct link having been established. For them to simply be asking about the case in that way seemed oddly out of place.

A doctor stepped into the room with a semblance of a smile. There was good news, at least.

"It looks like she is going to pull through. She is dangerously under-nourished and the injuries she sustained were complicated, especially with the leg, but if she has a will to live, there is nothing to stop her."

"That's excellent, Doctor. May I see her?" Kaufman was desperate to tell the woman he was sorry, whether he understood it or not. Michael understood it now, having been through survivor's guilt a few times already.

"I'm afraid not. We had to amputate the gangrenous leg and the damaged fingers, so the level of anesthetic we used will take some time to fade. Add to this her having been through a tough time mentally, and I would say that you will probably have to wait until tomorrow at least. We have a psychologist on standby to speak with her shortly after she wakes up, so she will get the best care we can offer, but any answers you may be looking for may take some time to emerge."

"I see." Kaufman settled back into the chair, looking out the nearby window in thought. He was likely trying to find some way to hold onto the courage that he had built up.

"I'll have the nurses keep you informed of her progress today and through the night."

"Excellent. Thank you, Doctor."

Ferro was looking at Michael, her eyes telling him that she wanted to speak with him out of earshot of the Europol guy. He checked and found that Jamie had read it too, tensing to stand when he chose to.

"Well, all of this waiting around has me feeling sluggish. With good news like that, there's probably no reason not to take a walk." He stood and stretched, and smiled at Jamie as she mimicked him almost exactly. "Jamie and I are going to take a walk. Do you two want to join us?"

Ferro got to her feet, swaying slightly for effect. "I'll go. I can use something to eat as well. Mr. Kaufman?"

"No thank you. I'll stay here for a while. One of my people is supposed to stop by soon."

"Okay."

The trio walked in silence, quickly climbing the stairs to the helipad, passing a pair of doctors who had chosen that spot to have a smoke. They were alone on the roof and Jamie stepped to the edge, basking in the morning sun and letting the wind whip through her hair.

"So, what do you think, Michael?"

"I think they screwed up. At the same time, I'm curious as to why they left the woman in that dungeon, alive and unsupervised. They're not sloppy in their methods, at least they haven't been up until now, and everything in me says that they were keeping her alive for something."

"Leverage? Until now they have executed every detective they have come across, with the exception of Mario, and that was only to send you a message."

He looked out across the city below them, feeling that the answers were just out of reach.

"So they're sending a message now? What would it be? That Europol is a collective group of fools who can't allocate resources in a timely and efficient manner? Who doesn't know that?"

"Hmm."

"Maybe it's a set-up for a joke."

Jamie had turned from the edge, brushing her hair from her face with a smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what would be an efficient way to create chaos without exposing yourself? You have to have someone else do the work for you. Lets ignore the snuff-film angle and focus on the other party involved here: the politician. We've got him, and if anything ever gets out about his rights being violated like we are, the agency's credibility is going to take a hit, especially in the northern region."

"That is why we're keeping everything quiet as to who it is."

"So what would be the best way to make it all come out in the open without crossing paths with the agency?"

Michael was following along now, just able to read what she was getting at. "You involve another body, one interested in the information rather than the politics. Europol will conduct an independent investigation and eventually stumble on the information we have, that of the string-puller. If word of his arrest hits the fans, we're the bad guys, not him. The joke would be on us."

"This makes no sense! We have tight control over the media, over the information being released, and we're arranging to get the woman further under our care by moving her to the agency hospital. How do they expect this to get out?" Ferro's fatigue was allowing her control to slip, something Michael found more interesting each time he witnessed it.

"You need a catalyst to bring two unrelated chemicals into a reaction. In this case, an event that will force the investigation by Europol before we get too far in the cover-up."

Ferro put a hand to her head, focusing past the building headache to what she would do in their opponents' place. They seemed so unrelated but she could feel the answer next to her, calling out. Michael was kind enough to wait the extra moment needed for her to realize it; sparing her the humiliation of being slow at something she otherwise would not.

"They'll kill her here!"

Michael nodded and Jamie smiled broader, having come up with it on her own.

"But how?"

"The how doesn't matter because there are so many ways. The question now becomes whether they have anticipated us figuring it out and reacting, or if they think we're playing into their hands. Regardless, Amherst has shifted tactics again. He's not actively seeking my elimination, but he's working to isolate me by outing the agency. I overestimated the effect I had on his ego, I'm afraid, and that means he's been breaking even with me at best and playing me at worst."

"But Michael," Jamie said as she stepped over. "Doesn't he know that the agency will bring more resources to bear on him? He obviously isn't that ignorant."

"Except the majority of our forces are tied up looking for Giacomo. Look at what kind of work it took to bring one measly raid on a poorly defended location. Add to that the fact that every time we respond to his actions we are risking more and more exposure among the public. I can see that you are worn out, Ferro, and since you shoulder most of that work, that means our methods of cover are less effective. He's got us in a position of reaction and it's only going to take time to wear us down."

The women glanced at each other, both hating the idea of his being right and that they were being led around by the neck. Neither could see an alternative, however, short of all of them being manically paranoid to the same degree.

"So..."

There were several ways to protect the woman, all of which could be instituted in less than six hours. He had to pick one, wait, and hope it worked.

"Ferro, go to a hotel and get some sleep. Jamie and I can handle it from here."

"I can't do that."

"I'm ordering you to, Ferro. You're no help to me in your condition, and it's going to take a clear mind to accomplish what I have in mind." He chose to ignore the look she gave and continued on. "Jamie, escort her to a hotel and return as quickly as possible, but you need to pick up a few items on the way back."

Jamie accepted the slip of paper he hastily jotted the information on and memorized it, a questioning look forming on her face.

"Is this going where I think it is?"

"Maybe. Get moving, we don't have much time."

Chapter 36:

Christiansen had laid his trap, and now everything depended on the enemy viewing his strength as his weakness. It had taken the better part of the night, enough time for Ferro to get enough sleep and return, looking to be back to her stoic self again. Her mind was also working well, as she handed Michael a folder that she had requested immediately upon waking.

"What's this?" The coffee was strong from boiling down all day, pulling any remaining fatigue from his body for the time being.

"Some information I thought might be useful." She looked into the hall at the armed guards at Miss Sommers' door, recognizing them as being from Section Two's guard element. Jamie was also conspicuously absent, which seemed very odd. "Where's Jamie?"

"Getting into her place. It's going down tonight, Ferro. I can feel it. That's why I arranged for the armed guards from base. They're only allowing people on a select list inside, and I control that list. The hospital wasn't too happy about it, but we have to protect this woman until she's stable enough to be transported."

"I see."

Michael settled into a chair with the folder, looking it over carefully for the important bits. It all added up in his mind, confirming what he had already suspected, but it seemed too obvious to be believable.

"We're sure on this?"

"I had Priscilla verify it with the home office and the US government. There were no DEA agents authorized to discuss the snuff film case with Europol at that time. The man Kaufman noticed was someone else with enough pull backing them to get past the security."

"Okay. I think I have the picture now."

As if on-cue, Kaufman entered the waiting room with a concerned look on his face.

"Ah, Kaufman, we were just discussing some information we picked up based on what you told us. Come in and sit down."

"Oh, thank you. I was just coming to see you. The guards outside Daniela's room said that I could only go in if you grant me authority."

"Yes, I'm sorry about that. My boss has told me to treat her like the prize witness she is, and so I'm only allowing a few people entrance- the senior guard, her primary doctor, two nurses, and myself. The cleaning staff is forbidden, and I'm even denying Ferro her authorization. I'm keeping a tight leash on this situation because I know how Amherst and his people work, and they have a nasty reputation for getting into places you would think they could not."

Kaufman nodded, recognizing the serious nature of the precautions. "Still, I was hoping to talk to her when she wakes up. My superiors have been demanding answers and I have been stuck with nothing but 'No change'."

"I know how that is. They're never happy with that answer, even when they know that there is no other answer possible." Michael chuckled slightly, having been there before numerous times with Langley. He gauged the man before him and decided to let things slide a little in the interest of cooperation.

"Listen, I can't let you in, but I can let you see her for a moment from the door when I go to check on her with the doctor this evening. That way you can call in and tell them that you saw her with your own eyes, and that things are pretty much the same. Will that work for you?"

"Yes. That would be appreciated, Mister Christiansen. What time would be good?"

"The doctor will be making rounds a little after eight, I think. If he shows up earlier, I'll give you a call. Now, to that information... It seems that the DEA man you saw in the office was someone else posing as one, and is likely the person who has been selling out the agents that are put on the case."

This information shocked Kaufman a bit, Michael noticed. Maybe it was how fast they had obtained it.

"You are certain of that?"

"It's not final, but it is certainly looking that way. We're still waiting on the Americans to get us the information we need, and you know how that can be at times. With any luck we'll have the packet on Monday, and then we can settle down into chasing down those bastards."

"I look forward to that. I'm tired of attending the funerals of dead colleagues and never getting any closer to the end."

Michael could not help but smile softly, knowing the feeling. "Same here."

"I will report this to my superiors and recommend that they begin an investigation into this man. Perhaps we will catch him the next time he shows his face. Thank you, Mister Christiansen, for your efforts."

He shook Michael's hand gratefully and exited, heading towards the elevators just down the hall. When Michael turned back around from watching him, he found Ferro frowning at him again.

"What?"

"Making exceptions?"

"It's all in the interests of fair play, Ferro."

She turned away and flipped open a business magazine, watching in dismay as a small pile of subscription cards poured out onto her lap. "I wouldn't know anything about fair play."

Night came, the hospital lights dimmed, and the normally busy sound faded to the occasional nurse passing by the door on the way some place. Kaufman showed up a little early and the doctor was right on time, and they followed Michael to the patient's room. The guards checked the doctor's Id against their list and waved him in after a search for hidden syringes.

The doctor seemed to understand the precautions, having been informed of the kinds of information they hoped the woman had and how many lives it could save, and he entered under the ever-watchful eyes of Michael, quickly starting a few basic tests.

"Any improvement, Doctor?" Kaufman leaned against the door, mindful of the guard that was staring at him.

"Yes. She's stable enough to move tomorrow morning. The infection has been stopped, so we should not need to remove any more tissue. From here on, it's entirely up to her own will."

A nurse carrying a fresh drip bag stopped at the guards, flashing her identification at them and waiting while they gently patted her down.

"Ah, Alessa." The doctor waved the attractive nurse in, his eyes speaking of perhaps more vigor than his sixty years suggested.

"My apologies for being late. The pharmacy had trouble finding the right one."

"No harm done. Please start the drip while I finish here."

"Yes, doctor."

The woman circled around Michael to get to the IV machine on the other side of the bed, smiling warmly at him as she passed. He caught a glimpse of the drip bag's label as she went by, noting that the white stick-on label was peeling slightly, the paper soft as if it had become wet.

He looked closer at it as she readied to hang it from the stand, realizing that it had the patient and room number handwritten on it for reference. It seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do as a memory aid, but it bothered him.

The bag was lifted onto the hook, the line connected, and the first drops fell into the main line. A sweat broke out on Michael's forehead as his instincts told him to act immediately against a possible threat. His hand shot out and grabbed the line a foot down, clamping it off tightly with a white-knuckled grip.

"Doctor! Guard!"

The guard shoved his way past Kaufman, his gun drawn and at low ready. The doctor's head shot up at the urgency of the tone, looking at the IV line and realizing that something must be wrong with it.

"Change this line out immediately!"

"What? What is this?" The nurse backed away as the guard moved in, pushing her away from the patient.

"Change out this bag and line, doctor, and have the bag she just added tested."

"You think there is something wrong with it?" He moved over to the machine and secured its drip, making sure that no other fluid would go into the patient.

"Call it paranoid, call it crazy, but also call it cautious. After you secure it, I want you to take a guard and personally go down to the pharmacy to get a new bag. Have the person there take you to the supply- do not accept anything they hand you."

"Michael, I think you're taking this a bit far." Ferro had stepped to the door at the commotion.

"I'm responsible for this patient's safety, and I have the authority to request this. Now please, just do it."

Another nurse arrive with a fresh line, stopping at the guard until Michael nodded to let her in.

"Nurse, get this set up while I get the bag."

"Ferro, go with him in case there's a problem."

"Right!"

Michael could feel the familiar sensation of having just averted a disaster, his body coming down from the rush. He turned to look at Kaufman, a man who had shown no surprise at all at Michael's actions, and simply shrugged. It was just as well that they were moving her the next day, as protecting her there was nearly impossible.

"You were right, Michael." Ferro and Kaufman entered the room they were using as a headquarters, and she tossed yet another folder under Michael's nose. "Pancuronium bromide- sixty milligrams. A lethal dose for humans, wastefully overkill for someone already in a coma. They want this woman dead."

"No kidding. Well, I can't say that I'm surprised. I knew they would try something to get to her, and I was right. What did the nurse know?" A glance at his watch showed that it was almost six in the morning. It was hard to tell what time it was after having been up all night.

"She claims innocence, but I already have her being interrogated by some people I can trust. The pharmacy technician is also being questioned, and we have calls out to the manufacturer in case this was an issue there."

"I seriously doubt they work with such chemicals so close to the more common ones, and certainly not in that high of percentages. Good work covering all of the bases, though." He hoisted his coffee cup in salute to her diligence.

"The lab also found a puncture in the bag consistent with a fourteen-gauge needle. It was resealed with glue that hardens and covered over by the label, but the label did not stick to the repaired spot. The lack of flexibility in the glue allowed the bag to seep into the label and weaken the adhesive. Whoever did the job did it just before the bag was taken to the floor."

"The nurse?"

"It's likely, but it will take some time to track down her steps to be certain."

Ferro sat down finally, having finished her report. Kaufman took the other chair and waited for Michael to adjust to Ferro's news before giving his own.

"I've contacted my office and my chief sends his gratitude. He also wanted me to pass along that he was willing to cooperate with your agency in full. He is sending the security video from the office that has who we think is the man posing as the DEA agent. The courier should be in Rome sometime tomorrow."

Michael nodded and pulled a sheet from his stack of papers. "That should be of some help." He handed the paper to Kaufman. "The helicopter will be landing at eight-thirty. We will all escort it to the roof, and then the guards, the doctor and myself will ride along. Other transport has already been arranged for the two of you, plus my assistant. She's gone ahead to the airport to maintain security there, and will meet you here afterwards."

The Europol man handed the paper back after memorizing the timeline spelled out on it. "You certainly know how to guard someone."

"I spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe on a protective detail."

Michael caught a twitch in Kaufman's eye at the lie, showing that he knew more about Michael than he was letting on. This was getting interesting...

"In any case, go on out and close the door so I can get an hour's sleep before the flight."

"Yes, sir." Ferro stood and followed Kaufman out, closing the door behind her. He watched her for a few seconds before speaking, hoping for a truthful answer.

"Does he always lie like that?"

"Lie?"

"He was never on a protective detail. He was in the American State Department's translation corps."

She stared at him, unsure as to whether he was making a joke. She finally realized that he was not and decided to teach him something about intelligence work before she walked away.

"Do you always believe everything you read?"

The roof door opened to a bright blue sky and gentle breeze, the sun shining brightly from the east and making everyone wince at the glare. A gust of wind marked the descent of the helo as it maneuvered into place, touching down gently and settling its weight into the struts- its rotor being held high to avoid injuring anyone on the ground.

The guards moved first, the first running out in a crouch to open the door of the aircraft while the second moved to the side and kept a constant watch on the doorway that the stretcher was wheeled out of. Michael's charge was strapped down tight to the stretcher and covered with a sheet from head to toe to protect against dirt or debris that was kicked up by the rotor. The others followed at set spacing, providing several waves of defense against an attacker.

"What's that?" Kaufman pointed at the second helicopter that was circling the hospital, providing high cover and an extra set of eyes.

"That's your ride." He was yelling above the whine of the turbines on the helo, the noise deafening.

"Okay!"

The stretcher was at the door of the helo and the med-tech released the catch for the legs to fold up. There was a sharp sound and everyone around the gurney was suddenly splattered with blood, the gurney slipping from the grip of the stunned carriers and dropping to the pad.

"SNIPER! GET DOWN!" Michael dove for the deck, looking at the blood-soaked sheet on the gurney and gauging that it was likely a chest hit from the side. His witness was probably dead already.

The others ducked down while the guards attempted to locate the source, risking life and limb to find the bastard. Michael knew where it came from: the roof of the building eight-hundred yards to the east, hidden in the glare of the sun. It was the only place for a sniper to hide effectively.

"Echo-Two! Sniper on the rooftop just short of a klick to the east!"

"_Roger that, moving in now." _

The other helo dipped its nose and winged over to the building, the side door opening to let the barrel of a rifle stick out.

"_Commence firing."_

The nose popped up and the helo slowed to almost a hover, providing a stable platform for the shot that rang out, audible even over the noise of the copters. Four more shots followed in quick succession, the scene eerily like the old Vietnam videos Michael used to watch when he was younger.

The shots stopped and the helo started to move again, this time descending close to the other rooftop. A lone figure slid down a line and poked around the roof for several minutes before dragging a limp form to the line and hooking on, letting the helo pull them from the rooftop.

"_Echo-Two has suspect in custody."_

"Good work, two. We'll lift off and clear the roof for you."

"_Affirmative."_

Michael motioned to the pilot who spoke into his intercom. The co-pilot made sure that the stretcher was inside and those aboard were the ones going, then motioned everyone else back from the aircraft. They lifted off and began to circle the building as the other helo carefully set its dangling cargo to the pad, and then settled down once they were clear.

Ferro shielded her eyes as the second helo approached with the pair on a rope. The girl touched down and released them both from the line, then dragged the moaning sniper to the side to clear the pad. She looked over at Kaufman as he stood and looked at the young girl, her short blonde hair waving in the downwash of the rotor. It was just about time.

A man in a suit emerged from the helicopter, the gun in his hand aimed at Kaufman's heart, but he hardly had time for it to register before soft hands roughly grabbed his arms and a foot swept his feet from under him, planting his nose into the black surface of the pad.

"Benjamin Kaufman... You're under arrest for accessory to murder with the sniper and for attempted murder involving that incident last night. You essentially have no rights as of this point. We'll have plenty of questions, and if you're smart, you'll answer without making us work for it." Ferro cuffed him and stood, holstering her gun and feeling pretty good about how the morning was shaping up.

Michael settled back into his seat and stared at the bloody stretcher, the blood dripping from the white sheet onto the floor at his feet. It was a pitiful and gruesome sight, but he could no longer contain the laughter he had been holding in since the door had closed.

"I think you went a little overboard, don't you?" He kicked the gurney a couple of times, an act that made the guards look at Michael as if he were mad. "C'mon, get up!"

"I can't. I'm strapped down for my own safety, remember?"

He pulled the sheet off of the smiling face of Jamie and released the straps holding her down, and then picked the Kevlar vest and ceramic plates that had provided the protection from around her. She handed him the still-leaking bag of blood that had exploded on being hit by the rifle round and sat up in the stretcher, stretching to see out the windows.

"Did Ferro get him?"

"Yeah..." They looked down at the helipad where the shooter and Benjamin Kaufman were stretched out on the pad under the guns of the remaining guards, Ferro, and Jean and Rico. "Rico got the shooter."

"I wish that were me taking that shot. I would have got him in one."

"I know. Maybe next time, Jamie."

The girl slipped from the gurney and settled into a seat, fastening in for the long ride back to Rome. She smiled for the doctor who had played along with the game, being a good sport as part of something he was only vaguely aware of.

"Thank you for your help, doctor. We really could not have done this without you."

"I'm happy to be a part as long as innocent lives are going to be saved."

The helo nosed down and headed southwest for Rome, the ride smoothing out as they started to cruise. Jamie leaned her head on Michael's shoulder and let out a long yawn, her efforts of the past day having worn her out.

"Tired?"

"Yeah. It's hard work playing a comatose body. It takes a lot of patience to just lie there for almost a day without moving. And what was with the excitement last night?" She playfully slapped his arm before leaning against it again, snuggling in for her nap.

"Just keeping up appearances."

"Making the enemy see what you want them to see..." Jamie had already started to drift off, her words barely more than a mumble to be lost in the engine noise. "Lure them in and kill them..."

Michael decided to wait for the second helo to land, not blaming Jamie for refusing to wait in the cold air with only a bloodied hospital gown on. The engine spooled down and the door opened to let Jean and Ferro roughly shove Kaufman from the cabin.

"Jean! Thanks you for helping out in such a hurry."

"Rico needed the practice anyway. What about the patient?"

"She never had a chance. The rifle round went through her chest from the side and blasted out the front." The illusion could only be maintained while the smoke remained to block the vision.

"I see."

The guards split the prisoners up, sending the sniper to the hospital and Kaufman to towards the stockade, leaving Michael and the others standing in silence in the cold air. When they were out of earshot, Michael smiled again.

"Jamie's fine. She just went to shower the blood off and change clothes. Bianchi called me earlier to say that Miss Sommers has come out of her coma and is talking, though she's still in shock, obviously. The psychologists are going to speak with her in a few hours."

"I have to say, Christiansen, that you laid an excellent snare for the Europol leak. He kept saying that he could not figure out how we knew." Jean's praise had an odd feel to it, probably because it was so rare. Michael had the feeling that the man was actually impressed for once.

"Thanks. A portion of the credit goes to Jamie and Ferro. Without their acting, I could not have made it look convincing."

Ferro led the way to the car and opened the door, waiting for her superiors to climb in. "Well, we now have three potential sources of information to work with."

"Lets keep Kaufman acting like a common criminal for now. He's bound to speak to a lawyer, and it's then that he will pass on the idea that Sommers is dead and no longer a source. After we get an idea of what she knows, I'm going to take Jamie and disappear for a few days, ostensibly for a vacation. I have to give our other problem child a chance to contact me. I've already got Belisario and Bergonzi going over some information that I want to pass along after they scrub and alter it. Call it a taste test, if you want."

Jean nodded is approval, knowing that Lorenzo would also agree with the idea. "Do you anticipate any problems?"

"No." Michael shook his head but continued to think of the many ways that things could go wrong. "This is just a quick meeting. It'll probably a simple hand-off of some type rather than face-to-face. Besides, Jamie is on her game and will be ready for anything that might come along."

"Overconfidence on your part?" The doors shut and the driver steered towards the headquarters building.

"No. Experience." He looked out at the distant hills and fields, already greening over for the spring. "I've been a little shaky the past few months but I'm back in control of things now. My head is clear and I can see my opponents' moves in advance now, and I'm not going to let go of that because it will give them a chance."

"What is Amherst going to do next?"

"He'll play a face-card. He has no other choice if he's to gain the initiative again."

Ferro gave a confused look. "A face-card?"

"Yeah. He's going to call in a favor from someone he's been saving for a rainy day."

"Do you know who it is?"

"No. I _do_ know who they work for, which cuts the possibilities down quite a bit." Michael was smiling to himself.

"Care to enlighten us?"

"Not really. It wouldn't help the matter."

They fell into silence as the car pulled up to the dormitory, taking their separate ways to prepare for the oncoming challenges after climbing out of the car. Jamie was waiting for him by his room, dressed comfortably for an evening off.

"Well?"

"Things are going to be heating up soon." He motioned her to enter before him and closed the door, pulling his blood-splattered jacket off and hanging it up. "I am entrusting my safety to your hands."

It was the way that he said it that made her start to worry. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you are going to have to follow my orders without question, and without any room for deviation. The plan for the CIA guy is going to have to go off without a hitch, and that means no ad-libbing from you, no matter how bad it looks."

"I never ad-lib!" The defensive response was cute with the soft laughter she gave. "I just- have to react differently than you expect."

"Come here!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him in a tight hug, sharing her laughter. The feel of her close to him made him relax, feeling a comfort that he had last felt in Tanya's arms, and that meant that Jamie was the only person his heart could trust in. It was just that simple.

Jamie felt a distinct difference in Michael now. His heart was no longer shielded from her and it made his emotions seem more vibrant and pure. The mystery and confusion she felt from trying to read his way of thinking was gone, and she felt that he was an entirely readable person.

In truth, she had sensed it the day before when he had started to work out his plan to get the woman back to the agency safely. His mind was clear and his actions driven towards a goal, that of complete and utter misdirection of their enemies, and it was his confidence in his being a step ahead that had instilled a similar determination in her.

"Michael... You're not the same as you have been." She held tight to him, whispering in his ear with an awe that the moment had created.

"I know. I feel free for the first time in a very long time."

"Talk to me. Tell me about what you feel." Her leg touched the bed and she guided them to it, sitting on the edge and never breaking the hold they had on one another.

"It's all coming together now. Everything... You, Tanya, Amherst, the SWA... I can see every piece together in my head and I know how to move them around. It's like a big game of chess, and I have a strategy now because I can see how the pieces will play out. I'm no longer making it up as I go because I don't have to."

Jamie gasped as she felt tears soaking through her shirt. Michael was crying, crying tears of joy, at the freedom he claimed to have found. If it weren't for her own heart feeling the incredible belief that he held in the thought, she might not have believed it.

"Jamie..." She could feel his hand clench into a fist on her back with the intensity of his heart's outpouring. "Jamie, I know how to win. I've been playing to a draw until now. Every step that I have taken- that we have taken- has been with the idea of our sacrifice to end the grease spot on the world that is Ian Amherst. I have known that we would die together to finish him, and thereby save so many innocents.

"But now, now I've figured it all out. We can win against him and live. I no longer have to feel like I'm pushing you towards the end of your second life in order to avenge the first. We can now be free to feel that there is a future for both of us, and that knowledge- that I'm no longer leading you to your death- is what has set me free."

There was power in his words. She had felt the same as he, that their lives were going to be in trade for the lives of so many others, and she had accepted it as part of their vengeance. She now had every reason to live, and that was important to them both.

"Michael," she pulled back and wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs and looking into his eyes, the better to believe in him more. "Are you sure that we can hope for such an end?"

"Yes. I feel it in my soul."

His eyes were devastating to her heart. The man she had always envisioned him to be, the one that was pure of conviction and intent, was now before her, and her heart demanded action. She had hated him, had loved him, respected him, and loathed him. Through all of the things they had been through, the only thing she knew for certain was that she could never, ever, bear to lose him, and there was only one way to show it.

Jamie closed her eyes and sought his lips, finding them in a passionate kiss that surprised him but did not frighten him away. His initial hesitation gave in to a like response that he would have felt was entirely inappropriate just months before. They were together and that was all that mattered, because it was only together that they could survive.


	18. Chapter 37 to 38

Chapter 37

The office block was very active again with the arrests of both Kaufman and the sniper, and everyone available was tracking down the leads they could glean from them. The manpower was in short supply, however, due to the continuing search for Giacomo, so it landed on Michael's shoulders to make something come of the information at hand.

Lorenzo had asked for an update meeting before ten, so Michael had shaken off the fatigue of the previous night's movie watching and lugged his briefcase of information to the conference room. He arrived ten minutes late, as usual, but the others let it slide given the recent success he'd had.

"Good morning, Christiansen." Lorenzo was sipping his coffee in a somewhat more relaxed state than usual, and Jean was his usual self. Ferro and Mario were there also, and Priscilla followed Michael in with updated reports from the intelligence section's office.

"Good morning, sir." Michael set his papers in order and sat back to let the meeting begin.

"Okay people... We have the Dante Giacomo problem lording over most of the section, but what I want to hear from you is that we are making progress on the other front."

Ferro chose to go first, and rightly so, as she was probably the only one who had a grasp on it all.

"Chief, we are continuously interrogating the suspects and the political leader in an effort to gain every possible piece of information. The leader himself has led us to several possible FRF group cells within the legislatures and we are actively pursuing them for confirmation. Secretary Petris has authorized all-inclusive access into their backgrounds and information, but getting what we need is a matter of sorting it. To that end we are bringing in a few people from military intelligence, people we can trust, to help with the sorting and interpretation."

"Excellent. What about the information from Miss Sommers?"

"She has been a little slow in giving anything out." It was clear that Jean was not happy with that fact, nor the idea that he could do nothing to speed it along. "The doctors have said that she is still fairly withdrawn, though she is coming out from her shell more every day."

"I spoke with her this morning, or tried to," Michael spoke up. "PTSD is difficult to overcome and you can only wait on it. She did state that she wanted to see her sister. Is it possible to get her down here discreetly?"

Mario nodded his head. "I just got back from Germany. The chief at Europol has placed her under protective custody and is arranging for her to fly here on a pretense of the funeral. Miss Sommers has even been reported dead to the local papers and within Europol itself, so we have that angle covered."

"So that buys us a few days at least before they can possibly discover that she's still alive."

The Chief nodded at the cloak and dagger work Mario had performed and turned his sights to the next part.

"So, we have a few days then. What do we know about the earlier attack on her at the hospital- the poisoning?"

"At first I thought that it was Kaufman that had spiked the bag, but now I'm not so sure. He did not have any access to the bag before it was picked up by the nurse. I checked through the security logs and found a doctor that could not be accounted for on the roster that day. That is, every doctor known to be on duty in the building were verified as being in specific places at the time in question. The photo I came up with doesn't give us much, just a general description that matches everyone, but I'm fairly certain that this was the person who put the tainted bag in where the pharmacist would find it."

Michael slid an enlarged security photo into the center of the table for everyone to look at. The man was plain, with dark hair that was neatly trimmed and the typical lab-coat.

"He knew where the camera was, because he backed away from the cabinet to avoid turning and being caught on it. He also shielded his face with a clipboard when he exited the room, and then he disappeared into an unmonitored area where we lost track on him."

"Do you have an idea on who it is?"

"Not a name, sir, but I have my suspicions as to who they are with. I believe it might be the same person that was posing as the DEA agent in the Europol office. After we caught Kaufman I suspected that he might have been lying about that, but it turns out that there were other witnesses that remember seeing him there, so Kaufman may or may not have known that the man was working on his side. I'm leaning towards not, as tipping us off to him might seem like a good way to divert suspicion from Kaufman and get us diligently searching after a credible and verifiable second party."

"Hmm..." Lorenzo looked to Jean for his opinion and saw the concern there. There were a lot of variables involved and some of them seemed unrelated except for the fact that they made more important events possible. "Well, we should continue to interrogate the prisoners until there is nothing left to learn, then we will lock them away quietly. As long as the woman is officially dead, there is an opportunity to learn things while the enemy is not aware. Ferro, continue following up on the leads and any further information the woman provides."

"Yes sir."

"There was one more thing, Chief." Michael wanted to get the information out before they switched topics. "Miss Sommers mentioned that one of her tormentors was not European, but American. This was while she was in the dungeon, and the man had taken a phone call."

"American?" Jean leaned forward slightly, already reading what Michael had seen in the information. "The phone call."

Michael nodded. "I already have the logs from that area being pulled, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to find anything."

"Why is that?" Lorenzo wasn't sure why he was so certain. Ferro spoke up first.

"Because it was far enough underground and behind stone that no cell-phone signals could possibly get through. The radios reportedly had problems reaching the surface."

"Correct. I had to have Maria stand by in the basement in order to relay a message through, and even that was pretty weak. There is no way a cell-phone could make a connection."

"So what does that leave?" Priscilla sipped her coffee and was working hard to keep up.

"The only thing I know of that can reach a place like that is a satellite phone, and one that is only available to select sources."

"The United States intelligence services?"

"Yeah. I think the Border Patrol might have them for when they raid the Mexican tunnels. The Brits have them too, and I think the Israelis."

"This lends itself to the DEA angle, Michael."

"Yes, but there are other possibilities I'm considering. I hope to know more in a few days."

"So what we are doing now is waiting to see what turns up on that problem. Lets move on to the CIA's attempts to gain our information. What do we have on that, Christiansen?"

Michael passed a folder to Lorenzo, a folder containing the better part of his plan for the final moves, as well as a copy of the falsified information to be passed along.

"Jamie and I are heading to a resort up north to meet with Randall Smith. I've told him that we are getting a few days away from here to conduct an investigation in Milan and that it will be a perfect time to disappear. He said he would arrange for transport the second day we are there, if the data checks out."

"Is there any chance he suspects you?"

"A chance? There is always a chance, but I feel confident that I have taken care of everything in such a way that he has seen only what I have allowed him to."

"And this information that you will pass off?"

"The lab techs have made it in such a way that it looks factual, but the crucial elements are missing and replaced with something that looks real enough. Numbers slightly off, materials completely wrong, and other things like that. Even if he can say that it is wrong, it's close enough that he could expect someone like myself to be fooled. I will make every effort to prevent this from getting out, however, as it _does_ provide some insight into the design and can be used as a starting point."

"And when will you finish him?"

"The next night when we move to leave."

Lorenzo gauged the man across from him, the same as he had the first time they had met. Michael Christiansen was a hopeful prospect back then- the chance to expand the horizons of the Social Welfare Agency with the knowledge of a CIA operative.

Since that time he had proven to be both a blessing and a curse. They could not have anticipated what a problem Christiansen would bring upon them in his vendetta, but Lorenzo could also blame no one but himself for allowing Christiansen to travel the path he had. Even if he had restrained Michael, he would have found a way to move on his own, such was the heart of the man.

His cyborg, as well, had shown the same recklessness and cautiously effective ruthlessness as her handler. Michael did not control her so much as guide her in the way she needed to go, like aiming a rocket and letting it fly without caring where it landed, so long as it was within a defined set of boundaries. He promoted her sense of self, her voicing of opinion, and a continuation of her normal life without a thought as to what problems it would cause the agency.

He was helping her to live out her life in a way that she could enjoy. The things that the other cyborg experience was not good enough for Jamie; he wanted more for her. Michael wanted for her to choose her destiny, to be ready at a moment's notice for her opportunity to make her life-defining decision. But what he refused to believe was that her life had already been decided for her.

The girl was a dreadnought, a machine designed to be the most powerful young woman in existence, with a lethality and mental disposition to match. His blindness to her intended purpose was intentionally upheld, as the only way he could define his own existence was to have someone that viewed him in a place higher than their self. Jamie was the most important thing to him because he needed to feel the love she gave him. His life lacked purpose without praise from others, a somewhat detestable way to live in Lorenzo's opinion.

But Michael was also an excellent agent. When he moved it was with an effectiveness that was hard to combat, an instinctual genius that was only evident afterwards, and luck that was enviable. His only flaw in this was that his confidence often controlled his effectiveness, for better or worse.

As he looked in Michael's eyes this time it was much as he had been before going back to Paris. The confidence was higher this time, in fact, and that meant that it would likely proceed as he had planned.

"Proceed with the mission, Christiansen. Kill the man, keep it clean, and return promptly. We can't afford to lose you to Amherst and his people while the Giacomo situation is so volatile." A little ego boost never hurt things.

"Yes, sir."

Jean and the chief stood and exited, and Mario offered a good luck handshake that Michael accepted.

"If you need my help, don't be afraid to call."

"Thanks, Greco. If I don't see you before then, be sure to have a good time in Florida. Bring back a beach bunny on each arm."

Mario laughed and shrugged. "I'm not that good with women, but I'll certainly try." He left and Priscilla followed, having become Mario's personal intelligence analyst for a few days and having to try to keep up with his constant moving around.

Ferro shuffled her papers and stacked them in her briefcase before standing and stepping over to face Michael with a serious look on her face. Michael could not tell whether she was unhappy about something or if she was just being her usual self, a difference that was usually only visible if you had her previous actions to reflect on.

"Something wrong, Ferro?"

"No. I just hope you know how to cover your tracks well enough. I've asked Lorenzo if I could go along to provide a little interference if necessary, but he denied my request."

There was something in her eyes that Michael felt reflected her heart for once. He could not figure out if she was concerned for him, the agency, or just wanted a bit more of the excitement that seemed to follow him around, but she definitely seemed like she wanted to be there with him.

"Are you saying that you're worried about me?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, a hand that she instantly brushed off with a disgusted look.

"Don't be ridiculous, Michael. My concern is for the safety of the agency and it's secrecy. Given your record, it would be careless of me not to consider the damage you could cause if left unsupervised."

She _really_ wanted to go, but was too professional to say so for fear that it would reflect on her willingness to do her job. Michael flashed back to those hours they had spent stuck together in Switzerland and how it had been the one time he had seen her truly relax as she accepted her fate.

"I can't stop you from following me up there, Ferro, but the risks are pretty high. I'd imagine that Smith has information on all of us and will be looking for anyone from the agency as a sign that I am setting him up."

"Yes. I would certainly be that careful if I were in that position. Just don't become careless or narrowly focused. Its all those people need to get inside your head."

"I'll be careful, Ferro. Besides, Jamie is hitting a stride almost alongside my own, so they probably wont make it past her."

"Lets hope so."

She was gone, her warm and sunny personality leaving along with her and making Michael appreciate the fact that he had some time on the range with Jamie today. Jamie warmed his heart in a way that he desperately needed during the pre-mission jitters.

The halls had quieted down into the mid-morning calm that followed breakfast but preceded lunch, and Jamie found it relaxing as she rubbed her bed-head and grabbed a bowl of fruit to tide her over until lunch. Claes was the only one still in the dining hall and she looked up at Jamie for a moment before returning to her book.

"Morning, Claes."

"Good morning, Jamie. You're waking up late today."

"Heh, I guess so." She settled into a seat across from the younger girl, biting into an apple. "I was with Michael pretty late last night."

Claes blinked, unsure as to what Jamie was trying to achieve by revealing such knowledge. There were always rumors flying about in the dorms, there really wasn't a way around it with girls, but the things that had been going around about the older two second-gen cyborgs and their respective handlers was something herself and Triela had been working to keep from the younger girls. They simply would not understand, really, and probably should not.

"Jamie, can I make a personal suggestion?"

"Hm?" Jamie swallowed the bite of apple that she had been loudly crunching on. "Sure, go ahead."

"You should really keep that kind of information to yourself. Rico and Henrietta really do not need to know about such things."

A confused look was fired back from the other side of the table as Jamie thought about her comment and worked it around to figure out why Claes seemed upset about it. Her face darkened as she realized it was the girl's impression of her. Perhaps it was her own fault for not choosing her words more carefully, but the fact that it was taken in such a way made it clear what kind of person they thought she might be.

"Listen, Claes... I'm not sure what you have heard about Petra, and I really don't care, but when you start thinking that she and I are the same way you show how ignorant you really are when it comes to such things."

The harsh words made Claes return Jamie's glare, the insult of her intelligence having been a line suddenly crossed. Being straightforward was going to defuse the situation before it became too much to deal with.

"You deny that you and Michael are intimate?"

"Intimate? As in just being close?"

"As in sexual."

Jamie turned red as her anger spiked inside and she had to draw from her deep reserves of patience to avoid punching the girl in her face. They could not understand what Petra and herself, and the other second-gens had to deal with on a daily basis regarding their handlers.

"We're not like that. Last night was the closest we have ever been and it was nowhere near that level of intimacy. We watched movies until very early this morning, that's it. And you can tell your busy-body friends that, too, in case they get the same idea as you."

Jamie stood and picked up the bowl of fruit to take with her to her room.

"It's not that I'm judging you, Jamie. I just think it might be wise to consider how your actions appear to others, especially the younger girls."

"I do as I please, Claes, and I take responsibility for those actions. That is the difference between being a girl and being a woman in this world. If the younger girls have questions, I won't hold back any answers" She made her exit without a word further on the subject, leaving Claes to stare at her back.

"Why do you get so defensive if it's nothing?"

The bowl was empty by the time Jamie made it back to her room. Her hands had occupied themselves by shoveling the fruit into her mouth as fast as she could swallow it and it was at times like this that she was thankful that being a cyborg negated the detriments of being a nervous eater.

Maria was in the room again, dressing from her morning workout with a few of the other girls. She glanced up at Jamie as she entered and noted the look on her face. It was a face she only made when someone had gone out of their way to upset her.

"Did you have some bad oatmeal for breakfast?"

"No," Jamie said as she started pulling off her casual clothes to change into her khakis. "Bad conversation. Claes seems to think I'm playing fast and loose with Michael."

"With Michael?" She bent down to tie her shoes. "As in lying to him?"

"As in biology."

"Biology?" Her eyes lit up when the meaning hit her. She could understand why Jamie had become so unhappy with the comment. "Yes, I can see how that would make things a bit unsettling."

Jamie pulled on a Remington t-shirt and tucked it into her pants, following it up with her tactical vest.

"She accused me of not thinking about how my actions look to others."

"Interesting, considering she gave no thought towards what kind of feelings you might have regarding such physical contact." Maria finished dressing for her language class, straightening her blouse and smoothing out her skirt. "The fact that you can be as close as you are is certainly a sign of your own healing."

"She couldn't know what it's like, so I really can't blame her. If anyone ever touched me again, even Michael, I don't think I would be able to live any longer. I cringe inside at the thought of it, and for her to say that I'm the type to flaunt it and give it away..."

Her friend wrapped her arms around her from behind and pulled tight, trying to be a comfort. "You're not, and Michael knows what you have been through and what the boundaries are, so he's not going to hurt you. Her words mean nothing."

Jamie's soft hand caressed the arms wrapped around her and the smile returned to her lips. She could not hope for better friends than the ones she had now.

"Thank you, Maria. I always know in my heart that you'll understand me."

"I can't help it. I have to listen to you all night and day." She released the older girl and picked up her backpack from beside her bed. "I'm going to class now, Jamie. I'll see you this evening, so try not to get too angry about things."

"I won't. She just caught me off-guard. Have fun in class."

The door closed, leaving Jamie alone again with her thoughts. She sat down on the bed and hugged herself to shield her heart from a cold chill that swept through her body. It was all she could do to hold in the tears she felt would burst forth.

There was a confliction within her heart, one that seemed so incredibly impossible to resolve. She could feel love for Michael, the desire to be with him forever and to give her all to him. But a part of her said that she could never be one with him in the way that a woman should be. The damage to her mind from that night in Paris was not something that could be removed by drugs or prosthetics, and as much as she wanted to rise above and move past that pain, she could not see or feel any way that it was possible. When they had violated her, it had been an act that could never be forgotten, and would forever come between her and whomever she chose to love.

That thought was enough to release her bottled-up tears, and she cried for several long minutes as a mix of emotions surged through her. Sadness that she would constantly have to remember it, fear that she might be rejected because of it, and anger at having to continue to be a victim of it. The pain and fear of dying that night had long been recovered from, but this was something that she felt with absolute certainty would follow her until her dying breath.

There could be no amount of vengeance that would bring back what she had lost. Not her friends, not her body, nor her soul. It was a cold, sobering reality that she had been steadfastly ignoring, the same as Michael had been, but it was reality all the same.

The only legitimate reason to go on was to rid the world of a cancerous lump of flesh, one that caused painful death to many and spread its poisonous cells to as many as possible. In Amherst's death, justice could be found for so many that have been, and even more that would be.

Her body had the strength to fight once again, and since fighting was going to be the means to justice, she pulled her rifle case from beneath the bed and started down the stairs. She had to meet up with the only person who understood, and together they would live to exact justice.

Michael sat on the sandbags that made up the firing line for the thousand yard range and watched Rico practice with her Dragunov, her shots being made at a rhythmic pace that was offset by the sound of the steel-tips hitting the target plate at six-hundred. Jean watched her accuracy through a large pair of binoculars and occasionally mentioned Rico's variance from the center of the plate.

Jamie walked up just as Rico got to her feet to reload her magazines, and the young girl smiled broadly at Jamie.

"Hi, Jamie!"

"Hello, Rico. How's the wind today?" She set her own case down and slipped the pack from her shoulder.

"Variable to the right. About five knots in the gusts, but averages around three."

"Easy day today, I guess."

Michael smiled at her; feeling warmed somewhat by Jamie's kinship with the other girls. In a different time and place, the conversation would likely be very different in subject, but the same in enthusiasm and warmth.

"Hi." Jamie stopped when her eyes met his- her heart beating a touch faster as she remembered the kiss last night. She brushed the hair from her eyes and silently cursed herself for not taking the time to primp a bit.

"Hi, Jamie. It's an easy day today. You just need to sight in your new scope and prove that you can hit stuff with it." He pulled a shoebox sized hard-case from his backpack and handed it to her, as if it were a Christmas or birthday gift. She gladly accepted and popped it open to get a look at her new toy.

It was identical to her old one in every way, but somehow it seemed new and exciting. Maybe as a sniper the union between a sighted scope and the rifle was the defining point, so anything that broke that union was foreign in nature. It was something to think about later.

She had her rifle out in a few seconds and the scope fitted onto the rail. The bolt came out of the rifle and she settled it onto several sandbags before looking down the length of the barrel at a paper target mounted at one hundred meters. A few adjustments of the bags had the bore on target and she switched to sighting through the scope, pleased to see that her hawk-like vision had almost centered it.

"How long to sight it in?"

"A few groups, I think. It's pretty spot on now."

She inserted the bolt again and loaded a magazine with her favorite load, inserting it into the rifle and working the action into battery. Jamie adjusted until she was comfortable and settled behind the glass to take aim at the incredibly easy shot she had before her. In calm, practiced moves she fired off a five-shot group, taking a second after each to ensure she was aimed in exactly the same spot. The hole in the paper was only slightly larger than the actual bullet diameter, meaning every shot had gone though the hole made by the first.

"Hmm..." The point of impact was a touch too low though, so she gave it a few clicks to adjust it out and loaded the fresh magazine that Michael handed her before taking aim at the six hundred meter target. The sights should be low at one hundred meters and be dead-on zeroed at six hundred. Everything else was compensation on her part.

Jamie counted the number of clicks she dialed in carefully, catching Jean and Rico watching her from the edge of her vision. Rico was good, there was no doubt about it, but Jamie was the best sniper in the agency and knew it. She would gladly help Rico along if she wanted the help.

"Got it?"

"Yeah... I should be right on, maybe a touch high." She settled in again and took aim at the distant target while Michael took his place at the spotting scope.

"Three-shot group..."

Rifle roared and the bullet streaked downrange, ripping a hole in the target about two inches high and almost centered on the bulls-eye.

"Two inches high, a quarter left."

"I allowed the wind to slack on that one, sorry."

"I wasn't complaining, Jamie."

Rico stepped back onto the line and started shooting, the noise drowning out Michael and Jamie's conversation from outsiders.

"Michael." Her next shot went wide as she lost her concentration.

"Hm?"

"There's something I need to talk about."

She fired her last round and removed the magazine to reload it. Michael looked at her from his place on the spotting scope and knew at a glance that it was something serious.

"You know you can always talk to me about anything, so what's wrong?"

"Claes said something to me this morning and it brought up a question I've been avoiding." Her hands started shaking as she thumbed the cartridge into the magazine and Michael knelt down beside her to hold them steady in a gesture of support. For some reason, his strength always made it easier to talk about things, and so she continued.

"She said that it looks like you and I are sexually involved, and that I should not be...making it so obvious."

In another circumstance Michael might have laughed at the absurdity of it, but the hurt look in her eyes said that it was something that really bothered her.

"You told her that we weren't like that?"

"Yes, but who knows whether she believes it. I don't really care whether she does or not anyway, but it made me start to question things about myself, and us, and I don't have the answers."

"Like what?" He sat down beside her and leaned against the sandbags.

"Like whether I can actually do the things a normal woman can."

It was something he had been told about, but did not really care to know the details of. By all real definitions, she was a woman, though the damage and injuries done to her made the more maternal aspects impossible.

"From what the lab-guys have said, you can do almost everything if you chose to."

"It goes beyond the physical, though. I guess what has me upset is that the idea of that sort of contact makes me uncomfortable. In my mind, I want no one to touch me because the thought of it makes me remember."

"I see..." Sometimes it was hard to keep in mind that she still had a form of PTSD, not unlike that woman in the base hospital.

"So... Even if I loved someone, and wanted to be with them in every way a woman can be, I still can't do it because of this. So, as a man, could you love someone who could not share that with you? Or would you leave her?"

She was asking him such a serious question, one that spoke of her heart's pains, yet there were no tears. She had already shed plenty of them over the question, and now she just wanted an answer. His answer would shape the woman next to him for the rest of her life, and it was this heavy burden that made him decide to answer as if it were not the two of them in question.

"Look over there, Jamie." He nodded his head towards Jean and Rico, and waited for her to get a long look. "Believe it or not, there is love there. In spite of the rough treatment, the harsh words, and the seeming lack of empathy, Jean loves Rico like no one else. He's piss-poor at showing it but it's there, and she knows that he loves her."

Jamie looked down, trying to get a handle on what he was saying.

"What that shows is that there are lots of types of love out there. If it really is a true love, be it as a lover or a friend or a mentor, it really doesn't matter what the details are. You ask if not being able to fulfill the physical needs of a person will result in a loss of love, and I can say for certain that such an item won't matter if the person really loves you. They'll understand the pain and frustration you have and be supportive whether you choose to leave things that way or not."

"But isn't there something essential to a marriage in its consummation?" Her eyes darted away nervously, a sign that she had given some thought towards a future of some form. "Not that I'm expecting to have such a thing in my new life, but isn't that part of it all?"

He smiled to cover his own discomfort with the topic. Somehow, whenever he got around to thinking of marriage, he became incredibly nervous. It had been the same uncomfortable feeling when he and Tanya had discussed it, and she had shared the feeling with him. He suspected that it came from providing a weakness for the enemy to exploit, something that seemed to come about regardless of events, but you don't deliberately make it easier for them.

"Consummation is just a word to describe an act. In this day and age it is more common than not for couples to, er...savor each other before taking the vows. What's important is the idea of unity of heart, and that is not dependant on creasing the sheets."

She smiled softly at his discomfort and the resulting slang-promoted joke, feeling the sharp edge taken off of her worries. "You always know what to say, don't you?"

"Most of the time," he said with a smile. "The rest of it is trying my best to avoid making things worse."

Rico finished her drill and stepped off of the line again, giving Michael a cue to steer Jamie back in line.

"I picked up something the other day that I thought you might like."

"Oh?" She stood with him and set her rifle down gently, forcing her worries to the back of her mind.

"I think you'll like it."

He pulled a gun case from under the bench and settled it on top. The locks popped open and he opened the case to reveal an old bolt-action rifle with a scope. The wooden stock was worn a bit with dings and nicks, but the luster of the wood and finish captivated Jamie.

"A Mosin Nagant?"

"Yep. An authentic, sniper-rigged 91/30. This little lady has more than fifty confirmed Nazi kills to its barrel, mostly officers if the guy selling it wasn't lying."

Jamie took the rifle in gentle hands and worked the action, amazed at how smooth it was for such a clunky- looking piece of craftsmanship. It weighed considerably more than her Remington, but it was a good heavy- a heavy that said you could carry it to Hell and back without so much as a doubt as to its reliability.

"Can I shoot it?"

The way her eyes lit up with excitement pushed the previous worries to the back of Michael's mind. He pulled a wax-paper wrapped package from his pocket and slipped the twine off, pulling five cartridges from it.

"Do you really think I would deny you the chance to fire a gun?"

"Maybe..." Her smile broadened as she accepted the ammunition and thumbed them into the integral magazine. "You still haven't let me shoot your Beo."

"I told you, it's my baby, just like the Remington is yours."

Jamie settled onto the sandbags and took aim at a target downrange. "Yes, but I never denied you the right to fire it."

"I'm the handler."

"You're a spoiled brat of a man!" The trigger was a little gritty as her finger pulled it through the motion, but the break was crisp and the shot fired, driving the steel butt-plate into her shoulder and sounding a sharp boom across the range. There was a hole in the target just below the bulls-eye, proving that the gun could certainly still shoot straight. "And teasing a woman with a gun, especially a sniper, is foolish."

He read the smile that curled on her lips as she worked the bolt for the next shot. She was happy behind the sights, happy standing beside him, and satisfied in her place. Her worries about her body and mind were settled for the time being and that set her free in a way.

The next shot hit only inches away from the last, the error inherent to such an old gun and ammunition, and Jamie seemed to be fine with it. She had learned everything he had taught her well, knowing when to fight a problem and when to swing with it, experience a young woman such as herself would likely have learned in coming years. She was mature, strong, and brilliant- everything that a man would want in a woman, at least a man with common sense.

Rico and Jean had left after they packed their gear, and Michael was feeling like testing Jamie a bit more before heading into the field for what might be their last mission. In spite of the risks involved in their work, he never really let the possibility of death get to him in any significant way. He had set it aside as something that was possible, but could not be worried over- if it happened, it happened. He probably would not be alive long enough to worry about it anyway.

But there was Jamie to worry about now. In spite of their promise to die together in the fighting, she was still determined to protect him before all else. The chance that he would die in front of her was pretty high with his action-oriented nature, and that was something he needed to consider in regards to her reaction.

"Say, Jamie..."

"Hm?"

"Tell me about your father."

She winced noticeably; spoiling her aim and making her back off of the trigger rather than miss the shot.

"Is this a test of my memory?" Her voice was hard and hinted at irritation at the painful topic.

"It's a question from a friend. I'd like to know."

"You know more about him than I do."

Michael watched her unload the rifle and set it aside to cool before sitting again to deal with the conversation.

"I don't believe that. I think you remember enough."

"And you want to know what I remember? Why?"

"Because I care about you."

Jamie's eyes flashed with suspicion. "This is a sudden change in your routine, you know. I can't help but wonder why."

"I just want to know. I know it was tough when you lost your parents, but I'm curious to know what kind of relationship you had with him and what kind of man he was."

It wasn't enough. His reason was lacking a purpose that would fall in line with what she knew of his methods. It was something he had taught her to identify in others, the better to identify them as a threat or suspect, and she knew that there was another reason for asking but could not tell what it was. Maybe to draw out her emotions a little longer? But if that was the case, he was drawing the wrong ones out.

"I'm sorry, but I won't tell you that. Some things belong to me and me alone." She turned her back to him in order to pack up her rifle and gear, working slowly to give her time to feel out his response. If he were probing her with some selfish intent, he would push the matter a bit more.

"I see..." Michael began cleaning the Mosin to prevent the old ammunition's residue from rusting the bore. The Ammoniated solvent burned the nose and made him cringe, but it was a good cleaner. "I won't ask again."

Jamie hesitated as she started to step towards the car, unsure as to where he was heading with the inquiry now that he had proven her suspicion wrong. A few possibilities worked in her head but they only left her curious as to what other reason he would have.

"You're not going to order me to tell you?"

He shook his head and slipped the cleaning rod into the gun with a clean patch. "You know I wouldn't do that over something like this. I hated it the first time."

"Yes."

Her back was still towards him but he could almost read her face through her hair. The lack of movement could only mean that she was thinking with her heart, something he wished he could claim to have taught her, but could only say that he reminded her how to do.

"You're a lot like him, you know." She had turned to watch him from the edge of her right eye and he could see the soft, nostalgic smile on the corner of her mouth. "I can't see his face in my mind, but I remember feeling safe and uplifted when I was around him. He always knew what to say, too, and it was always with a humility that belied his real ability. He never allowed me to see him raise a hand in anger or frustration, but I knew that he could take care of himself when the moment came. And whenever I felt limited by my own ability, he would prop me up with encouragement to learn things for myself."

A single teardrop glistened on her cheek as it ran down to drip from her chin, reflecting the noonday sun.

"I made it my purpose to be strong like him, and to help others learn to get to their own two feet. Such a mentor is rare in this day and age- I knew that even then- and that's why I can never give up on anything, and why I feel so close to you. You are the same type of man."

Michael pulled the patch from the gun, and set the rod down to lean against the bench. Her words were the clearest explanation of how her mind worked that he had heard yet. It explained everything about why they could read one-another so well, and why she refused to let go of her life.

"A man such as that... I could never have hoped to be placed on the same level as someone like that, but the fact that you have means that I'm not a complete screw up, I guess."

Jamie turned and smiled at him while wiping her tears away.

"I couldn't have dreamed of anyone more suited."

As she walked away, Michael took stock of where they stood. She was almost there- the place he was pushing her towards- and there was only a couple of other things she needed to achieve before he could be satisfied.

She would not fail him anymore... that was something he could count on. He only had to live up to that standard for her as well.

The Jaguar hardly turned an eye as it pulled into the covered entrance of the spa Michael had chosen. The valet and the several onlookers probably thought it belonged to the garbage man, Michael thought, and it certainly did not fit in with the posh crowd that he looked over from behind the tinted glass.

"Nice place..."

"Yeah," he replied as he glanced at Jamie, who seemed interested but not necessarily amused. "It's pretty ritzy. It makes me wonder how Smith can afford such a place on a CIA paycheck."

"Maybe he's like you and has a bunch of Benjamin's stashed away." She pulled her suit jacket on and buttoned it up, working hard to look like a million bucks.

"Ill-gotten gains, Jamie. Then again, stealing from criminals isn't necessarily a sin. At least I don't think it is. My mistake was in stashing it in a way that prevented me from getting to it easily. That's been fixed, rest assured."

Michael climbed out as the valet opened his door, flicked a comb through his hair, and tipped the man big as he leaned in the window to speak.

"Give me a spot with a quick exit, okay? I might have to leave in a hurry on business."

The man eyed the tip suspiciously as he thought about it for a moment, and then nodded as Jamie pulled herself erect in front of the other valet that had opened her door, her professional appearance and height advantage sending a noticeable chill through him.

"We'll get our bags, thank you."

"Yes, ma'am. Of course."

He practically bowed several times before moving off to the side, and Michael could almost see the frustration in his face over the lost tip. Jamie pulled their bags from the trunk and handed Michael his smallest one, her mind already setting up the appearance of a jet-setter businessman with a woman assistant. Michael shouldered the bag and smiled at her as she struggled to get her grip on her cases, the clothing bags, and her briefcase.

She followed him as he led the way inside with hardly a look back, looking as if he did not care but feeling terrible inside for making her the object of attention as she fumbled a bit with the bags. It didn't get any better when the man at the desk looked right through her without concern for her plight.

"Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?"

Michael pictured himself as Pierce Brosnan and emulated the style as he pulled off his sunglasses to look at the man.

"I have a reservation for the weekend. The name's Conti... Michael Conti."

He sensed Jamie suppressing laughter behind her poker-faced smile, a smile the desk clerk missed entirely as he scrolled through the book that they still used for style purposes.

"Ah, yes, Signor Conti. There is a problem, however, as some emergency repair work has made the room we set aside unsuitable due to the noise. The only other rooms available at the moment are a single bed."

The man glanced at Jamie finally and sized her up for any signs that she might actually be a mistress for the important man. She could read his eyes from behind her sunglasses and found him detestable.

"Sir? The single bed is not a concern, as I can sleep on the couch or in a chair just as well. Perhaps they might be willing to switch us to another room should one come available tonight."

Michael nodded after a brief pause of feigned consideration. "That would be acceptable."

"Very good, sir." The clerk filled out the line in the book and set it on the counter for Michael to sign as the clerk keyed everything into a computer that was tucked aside.

Michael handed it back after scrawling his "name" with his left hand, a technique he perfected in the hopes of throwing off pursuers who might look for his signature.

"Fernando will show you to your room, sir."

A bellhop appeared on command and took Michael's bag, leading the way to the elevator and holding the door as he and Michael waited for Jamie to pick up the other bags and follow. Michael could imagine the thoughts running through her head regarding the service in this place and about what she might have done to deserve being treated as such a functionary.

The doors opened on a floor and the young man led the way eagerly for Michael, once again ignoring the struggling Jamie. The doors closed on her arms as she exited and she stumbled into the hallway, dropping the suitcases as she caught her balance. It was as if the entire universe was conspiring to make her look like the world's biggest fool.

She leaned against the wall for a moment as she focused her thoughts towards remaining calm and poised, though it hardly seemed to make a bit of difference so far that day. The entire place seemed like it existed in a sexist cloud of bad luck, all aimed at her personally.

"Excuse me, Miss. Might I be of some assistance?"

Jamie looked at the young man that had walked up beside her and her heart skipped a beat. He was handsome, wearing a Brioni blazer with dark blue pants, and short, styled hair, and looked to be only twenty or so. His hand was outstretched in an offer to help her up from the crouched-down position she had slumped to while thinking about her plight. It was all Jamie could do to keep from sounding like an idiot as her mouth worked faster than her brain.

"Err- Um, what?"

He laughed softly at her discomfort, but it really did not offend her at the moment.

"Can I help you with those bags, Miss?"

His hand was still in front of her and the smile on his face calmed her to a point where she could take it with shaky hand and be pulled up. He had considerable strength in his hands, a feeling that intimidated the woman inside her a little.

"I- I'm sorry. I guess I was trying to carry too much at one time." Damn it! Why was she feeling so flustered?

"I can see that. What concerns me is that the staff here failed to provide you with adequate help. Perhaps it's for the best that my father just bought the place..."

Jamie could almost find that idea laughable except for the serious look in his eyes.

"Your family owns this resort?"

"Yes, unfortunately." He gave a pained expression as they looked down the hall at the distant Michael and bellhop, just arriving at a door. "The previous owners made a wreck of the place through poor management and I told my father as much, but he met my mother here long ago and it means a lot to him to see it restored to its former glory."

"That's a noble enough cause. I hope it's a gift she appreciates."

"I think she would. Unfortunately, she died when I was very young."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She looked away uncomfortably, unsure as to how she could manage to screw anything else up.

The man just smiled broader, his hands still holding hers. "It's okay, there's no reason to apologize. In fact, I should be apologizing for the terrible level of courtesy shown by the people here. We're still working to weed out the problem cases, so please accept my apologies and accept my efforts to right the situation."

"Of course!"

She realized that her thumb was gently rubbing his hand of its own accord, so she pulled away and began to pick up the things she had dropped. The man picked up two of her bags and was just pulling on the handle of her guitar case when her eyes fell on it, and her programmed response to strike in order to protect it was barely reigned in, resulting in a lunge and harsh snatching of it from his grip.

The man was stunned at her speed and the ferocity of the act, stepping back slightly as she turned away in a sudden bout of shame that flushed through her.

"I'm sorry! This- this case is important to me, so I automatically protect it with everything in me. It's not personal."

"Don't apologize, Miss. I understand completely." He picked up the other things and let her keep the case for herself, then led the way down the hall to the room. The bellhop was still there, as was the man the woman was with, and the young man set the bags down gently just inside the door. He motioned Jamie in with a flourished gesture, bowing gently as she passed.

"Thank you." Michael handed the bellhop a tip but it was snatched away by the other young man, surprising Michael with the ferocity of the look that was thrown at the bellhop.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Fernando has not earned your money or respect." He handed the money back to Michael and then turned on the bellhop with genuine anger. "How dare you let a guest struggle with their luggage? You never gave this woman a second glance after you left the elevator, and certainly did not help her when she fell."

The bellhop began to open his mouth to respond but his accuser did not give him a chance, instead grabbing the boy's ear and dragging him to face Jamie, who was standing by with an unsure look at what she was seeing.

"Apologize for your lack of courtesy!"

The tone of voice made it clear that bad things were going to happen if he did not do as he was told, so the young man bowed deeply and apologized sincerely in five languages. He was then shoved roughly out the door. The young man turned to Michael and bowed.

"I'm terribly sorry for the inconveniences, sir. I'll see what I can do about getting you a better room for all of the troubles."

Michael had been impressed, even entertained, by the scene that had unfolded in front of him. He had watched the man's interaction with Jamie as long as he could, and the way he had taken charge of the situation, in spite of appearing to be a very rich individual, had impressed the hell out of him.

"Thank you, I would appreciate that greatly. I had heard of the problems surrounding this resort, and I'm glad that the new owners are finding people like your self to take things back under control. I'll be sure to mention the change to the fellows back at the club."

"I would appreciate that, thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to speak to someone about hiring new people. If there is anything else you find lacking during your stay, please feel free to ask for me."

He moved to exit but Jamie stopped him with an arm across the doorway.

"Wait!"

Michael could see something different in her eyes as she finally removed her sunglasses, the brilliant blues sparkling like the bluest waters.

"How are we supposed to call you if we don't even know your name?"

He laughed from embarrassment, rubbing his head and showing the first trace of losing his cool demeanor.

"My name is Nicholas Ferrari, the son of Nicolo Ferrari, the new owner of this establishment."

"Ferrari?"

"Before you ask- no, I'm not related to the automobile makers. I'm just another Ferrari." His smile made it clear that he was used to the question and meant no harm with the response.

"Well, Signor Ferrari, I appreciate the professional attitude you have exhibited today. I'm sure your father will be proud of you."

"I hope so. Until we meet again, Signor, Signorina..."

Another courteous bow and he breezed past Jamie, who rested against the wall in a daze after he left. Michael watched her with some concern, worried about the way he had been treating her in keeping up the image.

"I'm sorry. I should have helped with the bags."

His words snapped her from the daze and she stepped to the bed to open up a case.

"It's not a problem, Michael. I know you have an image to keep up. Besides," she smiled, "something good might just come from my suffering."

It only took a moment for Michael to realize to what she was referring. "Ah, Signor Ferrari..."

"Yes."

Michael pulled a small box from his bag and flipped a switch, then started wandering the room to look for hidden microphones.

"He seems like a nice young man, Jeanette." The use of her alias had the desired result- that of reminding her that they needed to secure their position before relaxing at all. She nodded and started looking as well, carefully moving around and checking the obvious places like the drapery cords and lampshades and their fixtures.

"I guess so. You know I've never been good with the boys." She was trying to pass off the conversation before it became too uncomfortable for her. Somehow it seemed a bit strange to talk about a guy with Michael, but maybe it was because she actually thought Nicholas was attractive. Certainly she had felt a change in her heart-rate upon seeing him, not so different from the excitement that she had to continuously stave off while waiting for her targets. It seemed strange now that she thought about it, but she had never really thought of any man to be attractive.

The exception was Michael, or at least he had been the only exception until now.

"Well, you haven't exactly had a lot of time with them lately."

Michael motioned her over to the couch and then pointed to the lower corner near the leg. A glance at the meter in his hands told Jamie that it was picking up a wireless transmission, just as he had suspected there would be. She slipped to the floor and shined her light around the bottom, finally finding the bug taped securely to the top of the leg where it was nearly invisible.

Michael motioned her back up from the floor and pointed towards the bathroom, making a gesture with his hands that indicated washing or bathing. She nodded and thought about what to say for the audience.

"I think I'm going to shower real quick before going down to get a massage."

"That's fine. Just make sure you're back in time to get ready for dinner." Michael flipped to a news station on the television and then followed Jamie into the bathroom. She made a show of humming softly and rustling her clothes appropriately, then turned on the shower to cover their voices as they whispered to each other.

"What do you want to do?"

"We'll have to scan the rest of the room, but it's almost pointless. We know that someone is listening in, probably Smith, and we can't remove the microphone." A thought struck Michael as he spoke, and the questioning look on his face made Jamie wonder what he had thought of. "Or maybe..."

He made a quick scan of the bathroom and found another microphone behind the mirror, which he pulled out and unscrewed to remove the battery.

"Go ahead and get a shower... Then go enjoy yourself until dinner. I have a few things to discuss with Mister Smith regarding his surveillance of a skilled CIA operative. I don't have to put up with microphones because he should know I could find them. I think I'll be insulted rather than careful this time."

Jamie smiled as he made his decision, knowing that his confidence was born of his control of the situation. He could afford to play around with Smith for a day or so, so she chose to let him have some fun.

"Okay. Be careful, Michael."

"Formal dress for dinner, Jamie. I'll get us a table for seven o-clock."

"I'll be there."

Jamie pulled her suit off and stared at herself in the mirror, wondering if she should do her hair differently this evening. Her instincts told her that dinner would be a good time as any to give Michael the gift she had been saving since that interrupted dinner in Rome.

There would be a calm before the storm that would be rolling in the next night with the elimination of Randall Smith. Smith was the careful sort- you didn't get to be a station chief by being careless- and there was no doubt in Jamie's head that he had something planned as a back up in case Michael got out of hand. Michael would know this and plan accordingly, but it all came down to who had one-upped the other beyond their expectations.

The only job Jamie had was in making sure Michael came out on top.

Chapter 38

The steam of the sauna was scorching and felt to Jamie like she was inhaling coals. She had never been in one before, even in her previous life, but the touted mysterious healing powers of them made her curious enough to try one now.

That and the solitude.

The spa was busy in the pre-dinner hours and she had found it unnerving to be among so many people without Michael beside her, but she had spent her time in the pool (which was actually enjoyable), and in the mud bath (odd sensation that it was), and had showered off to try this last item of the evening.

She adjusted the large towel around her and settled onto a bench as her lungs started to adjust to the humid, thick air. Sweat had already started to form on her skin, something she took a moment to watch in curiosity. She had always been too active to notice but now she was able to wonder how her builders had managed to emulate almost everything a normal body could do.

Her finger swiped across the top of her arm, flinging the sweat away and making room for more to come forth from the depths. She focused on a single spot on her arm and stared intently, her finely tuned senses feeling the gentle release of the gland and the salty liquid's percolation to the surface to form a droplet.

"Weird..."

The door opened and Jamie felt a rush of hot air being sucked towards the cooler environs, only to stop when another woman entered and settled at the furthest end of the bench, all but hidden in the cloud and dim lighting. She removed her towel and settled back against the wall with practiced ease, her body exposed for the eyes of anyone who bothered to care.

It was a mixed sauna, Jamie knew, so she was not sure whether the woman did not know about the possibility of a male entering or did not care, but the woman's boldness was surprising and Jamie blushed as she caught herself staring at the body in her efforts to evaluate the woman's character.

There was no indication that the woman noticed Jamie, and she really could not say for certain whether the woman had noticed her existence at all. Jamie's watch beeped its five-minute timer and she had to leave the room, so she stood up and then swayed drunkenly as her head spun a little. The woman looked up at Jamie in concern but remained hidden in the mist as the girl steadied herself and proceeded out into the hallway, a reaction that left Jamie with a questioning look on her face. She felt as if she had seen the woman before, but she really could not be sure since she hadn't caught a look at the woman's face.

Maybe she was just getting spooked from being away from Michael for so long outside of the agency...

"Miss Conti?"

She came out of her distracted daze automatically at the sound of a male voice, her eyes quickly scanning around her and realizing that she had entered the men's locker room, if the several men in various stages of undress were any real clue. Her embarrassment was only compounded by the fact that Nicholas Ferrari was standing in front of her with only the shirt in his hands providing cover.

"I- Err..."

"Are you okay?"

"I seem to have chosen the wrong door. I'm sorry. Maybe I was in the sauna too long." Her eyes darted to the door in the hopes of finding an exit but his hand caught hers and stopped her from leaving. Her mind went into a defensive mode as the fact that she was in the men's room with only a towel on blitzed through her head. "Please, let go."

"Hey, I was just... I know it's not exactly the proper setting, but I was wondering if you would join me for dinner tonight." He released her but she did not continue her escape, instead trying desperately to focus past her discomfort, confusion, and embarrassment to understand what he was asking.

"You mean dinner together?"

"Yes."

Another glance around the room turned the tables in her mind and she had to get out of there, if only to avoid the stares of the other men in the room as they enjoyed the conversation.

"I-uh, I have to go!"

"Wait, I-"

She pushed the door closed behind her and rushed to the next one, the right one, ducking quickly inside just as Nicholas popped out of the men's room with a towel wrapped around his waist. The women inside were staring at her as well, wondering why a young woman in a towel was leaning against the wall, holding a hand to her chest and gasping for air.

"Miss Conti!"

The voice from the other side of the door was not going to go away easily, that much she knew for certain. Then again, did she really want him to go away?

"Yes?"

"You did not answer me."

"About what?"

"Will you join me for dinner?"

"Yes, now just go away!" Jamie looked around at the women, a few of whom were smiling as they turned back to what they were doing. "You're embarrassing me!"

"I'm sorry. I have a table on the west side of the dining hall. I'll be waiting for you there."

"Okay."

She sighed in relief at the end of an uncomfortable moment, but a new worry hit her in the form of her having to meet Michael for dinner at the same time. She had forgotten him entirely, something she had never imagined she could do. There was less than a half-hour before she was supposed to meet him, and she had left her cell phone in the room, so calling him was out of the question.

She had to make a choice between what she wanted to do for herself and what she was supposed to do for her handler.

"What am I going to do?"

The classical music and rich atmosphere of the dining hall certainly showed what the rich life was about, Michael thought. Crystal glassware trimmed in silver or gold, extremely old bottles of wine, and plates you could see more empty space on than food- these were all things that Michael had learned to expect, and to dislike, from the bourgeois class.

Smith was supposed to be meeting him, at least that was the agreement they had made when Michael had broken into Smith's room and tossed at him the half-dozen bugs the man had planted in Michael's room. He was getting a new room, courtesy of Nicholas Ferrari, and things were supposed to settle down into a wait-and-see situation until the 'escape' on Sunday night.

But both Smith and Jamie were late.

"Damn... Where is that kid?"

He caught a glimpse of her among the crowd of people by the entrance, looking beautiful in her black Paris dress, her eyes looking past the crowd towards the tables, trying to find him. She stopped a waiter and asked for directions, and the busy man was evidently charmed enough to lead her in the direction from which he had just come. The direction was away from Michael's table and he became concerned as to where she was going, at least until the crowd parted enough for him to see that Nicholas Ferrari was seating her at his table in the gentlemanly way.

Jamie was smiling, perhaps even enjoying herself, in spite of the nervousness that Michel could read in her motions. While it concerned him, he was in no position to interfere at that point, so he let it slide from his mind as he sat down and waved a waiter over for another drink.

The vodka martini was settling in when a mix of Chanel No. Nine and Creed Royal Water hit him on the breeze from a nearby dress ruffling. He looked up to find one of the last people he could expect to see standing before him.

"Hello, Michael..."

Emily Lanstrom smiled with her glossed lips and extremely accurate French accent, and behind the smile Michael thought he could see her focusing on a deception beyond the one meant for outsiders. The likely reason was beside her in the form of Randall Smith, a man who offered his hand in greeting but likely held a knife or gun with the other.

"Emily? I didn't expect you to be here," Michael spoke truthfully.

"There are times, as you know, where it's helpful to have reliable people to back you." Smith spoke with an Italian accent, making Michael glad that he had done the same when he had chosen to respond to Emmy in English.

"Indeed. Please?" He motioned them to be seated and a waiter appeared as if by magic, then scuttled off to get more drinks.

Emily looked around for tails and watchers, looking casual as ever and reminding Michael that her field-craft was very good. Her foot tapped his ankle twice to indicate they were being watched or otherwise monitored and to continue looking natural, a traditional signal in their circle- a circle that Smith was not a part of. Michael could only assume that her presence there was not an accident, and that Smith was the one they needed to worry about.

"So, how long has it been, Emmy? Four years?"

"No, almost three. Not since before Calais." She sipped her drink and remained in character, looking as calm and deadly cool as Tanya always had. Michael made a face as if he were thinking about it.

"So it is. The past couple of years have been a long blur for me. It hasn't been easy." That much was truth enough.

"I know."

"These pleasantries are amusing," Smith butted in, "but hardly helpful to the situation. I am here and prepared to fulfill my part of the bargain, Mister 'Conti', but I need to know that you are willing to fulfill yours."

Michael's eyes had watched him in periphery as Emily had spoken of how long their separation had been, and had caught a twinge of amusement on the lips, amusement that was obviously not related to the current situation. Smith likely knew of Michael's moves in Paris recently, and that Emmy had helped him.

"I'm here to finish this deal. I'm sick of the way the agency has been dealing with things lately, and their lack of help in dealing with the people I've been after is not exactly heart-warming. And then there's Jamie..."

He put on a somewhat concerned face for effect.

"They're a step away from taking her back in for another brainwashing, and I can't allow that. She's come too far and is too important to me."

"I understand."

Smith said it with a straight face and Michael nearly let some surprise show in his own. The man didn't care at all, let alone understand the emotionalism that Michael was attempting to portray. He was simply analyzing Michael through a lens of skepticism, like they had all been trained to do with informants.

"Don't act like you care, Smith. I know the game- I've played it as long as you have- and I know you couldn't give a rat's ass about anything but the information. I, of course, only care about the payment for that information."

Michael pulled a USB memory stick from his pocket and tapped it on the table a few times, showing that the bargaining was being opened.

"Here's a sample. It's only a few files- I have the others stashed away for when we make the final trade-off. From these you can certainly tell that the information I have is worth the price."

"And the price?" Smith lit a cigarette.

"First: extraction from here with Jamie, to Warsaw. There I will hand over the complete information, and it's decoding key, upon the payment of twenty million dollars in untraceable cash. Then she and I walk away and I never see another CIA agent."

Smith took a long drag and stared into Michael's eyes to gauge his sincerity. Michael knew it was coming and was ready with a practiced look.

"Only twenty million?"

"I'm not greedy, I just want to be left alone. A house somewhere out of the way sounds good now after a life in the dark alleys of Europe."

"I see..." He nodded and motioned for the data with his fingers. "I'll have a look and get back to you tomorrow. If it's what you say it is, then I'm sure the director will see that you get what you want. Which room are you going to be staying in?" Michael had made no effort to hide the fact that his room was being changed, only where it was being changed to.

Michael glared his response. "You don't need to know. I'll meet you here for lunch tomorrow at one."

"Very well." Smith snuffed his cigarette out and stood, tossing off the last of his drink. "Coming, Miss Lanstrom?"

"Not yet. I haven't talked with Michael in some time, so I thought we might reminisce a little before he disappears underground again."

"Suit yourself." The man shrugged and left, narrowly avoiding a waiter who was bringing dinner to the table. Their plates were set and their glasses topped off with a fine wine, and Emily finally spoke after the waiter left.

"When was the last time you and I sat down to a nice dinner together, Michael?"

"Three months after we transferred to Paris. I remember it vividly- every detail. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue..."

Emmy smiled and sipped her wine, her eyes never leaving him. "You're still quoting Casablanca, Michael? I thought you had given up using clichéd lines to lure women in."

"Not so much lure in as to evoke emotions."

"That you do very well, even without the classics." She held her glass in salute before taking another sip.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the taste of an expensive meal, something that neither of them had the chance to partake of very often on their pay-grades.

"How _is_ Katherine?"

"Mm..." He had caught her in mid bite. "She's well. In fact she's better than well, she's actually started looking at men again. I think your therapy session with her turned the corner, and now she can move on."

"That's good to hear. At least I'm doing something decent to make up for my failings."

"Mm... This food is really good!"

Michael watched her eat happily for a while before asking her the pressing questions.

"Emmy?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you here?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly and shifted to the doorway, watching for a sign that Smith might still be around.

"Smith called me last week and said I was being ordered to work with him in regards to you. The orders had come down from Rathbone, the new DDO, so it's not like I had a choice. He started off by asking for everything I knew about you- how you operate, what kind of technical knowledge, what I think your largest blind spot is..."

"I get the idea." It was not as if it was anything different than what he himself would do in a similar position.

"Right now, I'm along as insurance. If you and Jamie fail to come through, he has orders to kill you. No shit, right from Rathbone himself."

"And you?"

"He thinks I'm on his side. I've been playing along and if the worst comes, I'll side with you."

"I can't have you do that. It'll make you as much of a target as myself. Your career will be over and you'll never be able to go home."

"I'm willing to accept that, Michael." Her eyes were serious, he could see, and there was something else in them, something he was not sure how to describe. He could tell that she was hiding something but she had become very adept at masking it. "There are worse things in life to fight for than friends... Like stabbing them in the back for your career."

His instincts were warning him about her, something he had never felt when they had been working together before, or even the recent trip to Paris. Even still, she was someone he had to trust in because he knew her well enough to be sure that her motives were pure. She was a straight shooter when it came to conscience and that meant she had to do what she felt was right.

"You know I can't ask you in good conscience to do anything to help me."

Emmy sighed and smiled, tugging at her earring unconsciously as she rested her chin on her hand, her eyes never leaving his.

"I know. So I'll do what I feel is best if and when a time comes."

Michael tipped his glass in salute. "That's all I ask of anyone."

"This food is delicious."

Jamie caught the eyes of her host as she took another bite, focusing on him as she mentally forced herself to eat carefully to avoid looking like a slob. Nicholas for his part, continued staring into her eyes as well, breaking only to pick up his wine glass.

"Our chef hails from the Les Trois Marches in Versailles. We were fortunate that he was quite experienced in Italian cuisine as well as French."

"I've never had anything as wonderful, even in Paris."

Ferrari could tell that she was enjoying herself, but her lack of attention to the wine was something he found curious. "Is the wine not to your liking? It's a '67, among the finest in our cellar."

"Please, forgive my seeming lack of enthusiasm for it, but I'm afraid that I'm not much of a wine person. Alcohol is something I drink with extreme reluctance as it tends to bring out a less appropriate side of myself." She drifted into thought about the several times that her darker self had escaped due to her lack of control. Certainly she could not afford such a slip now, undercover and enjoying herself with the young man.

"I see... It's a shame, but I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

He flagged down a waiter and requested a sparkling grape juice for her, then returned to the conversation with a curious look on his face, one she could not let go.

"What is it?"

"I was just realizing that I have been having such an interesting time with you that I never asked what your first name was."

"You're only now realizing it?" Jamie smiled, enjoying his embarrassment a bit. "My name is Jeanette. Jeanette Conti."

"Was one of your parents Belgian, by any chance?"

"No. My great-grandmother was, however, and I am named after her."

"Ah..."

Jamie thought about what she had said just now, thinking about the lie from behind her collected and casual face. It seemed so natural, the lie, as if nothing else could possibly be the truth. Michael had never told her anything but to assume the name 'Jeanette Conti', her alias for the mission if anyone were to ask. She was his sister- a low-level secretary-type figure in the family business, and her job was to assist him.

So the lie was of her own making. Worse than that it was something she felt comfortable in, the same as the lie she had told the pastry shop owner in Venice. Both had rolled right off of her tongue without thought, as if they were programmed into her head.

Her eyes returned to Nicholas Ferrari and she felt her face remain the way it had been- enjoying herself with food and conversation, blinding the man in front of her from the true thoughts within. A chill ran through her as she realized that she was still being controlled, even in this situation. Her eyes quickly searched the tables in an effort to find Michael. He would know what was happening.

"Jeanette?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay? You suddenly became quiet."

She feigned a smile for him, but it felt nowhere near as natural as the previous one. Jamie felt scared inside, worried that her belief in her freedom was in reality a carefully controlled program from the agency.

"I'm fine. Perhaps I'm just tired from the traveling and my recent workload." She relaxed her mind this time and let her mouth fly, seeing just how far the lies would go on their own. "My brother keeps me very busy."

"It's a shame. Most people our age would be living life to its fullest, but we are trapped into our family businesses, seemingly forever doomed to be carrying the weight."

"Yes. Yes, that's it exactly. I was hoping this trip would allow me to shrug off that weight for a little while."

"Hmm."

A silence settled in and Jamie could tell the man was deep in thought. His eyes finally lit up and he stood, taking her hand. "Lets go someplace."

"Go? Where?"

"I know of a perfect place."

Jamie wanted to ask what it was a perfect place for, but she caught herself and decided to let things fly out of her control for a while. The thoughts about how the agency controlled her made her desperate for anything beyond their control, and this certainly seemed like one.

Nicholas led her up several flights of stair to a balcony that overlooked the valley, which was just settling into darkness as the sun dipped below the western hills. Jamie stepped to the balcony and shivered in the cold breeze that whipped past her, but remained captivated by the view.

"This is one of my first memories- the view from this balcony with my mother. I was only four or five at the time..."

Jamie watched as Nicholas took on a nostalgic aura, gazing out at the land as he sought the memories of his mother's presence. Jamie could understand, even if it was difficult to remember her own parents' faces and presence.

"My mother... She died when I was nine. My father was so busy with work at that time- taking over a few businesses at a time to grow the company, eliminate the competition, and make a name for himself in the social circles."

Jamie could hear a slight rasp in his voice as he struggled to keep his emotions under control, if only out of habit.

"Mother was sick. Father was out of town again and I was the only one there to take care of her. She played it off as nothing, and being so young meant that I could not understand the signs of something more serious than the flu. My father finally returned from his trip and took her to the hospital, but it was too late. The illness took over her body and there wasn't anything the doctors could do to reverse it."

He was blaming himself. He had held it in for a long time, and for some reason she could not understand, Nicholas was able to let it out to Jamie. She moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"If you're blaming yourself, don't." She decided to break cover just a little in order to help the man next to her. "There is nothing you could have done. No child could go against their mother's wishes in that situation."

"I know that, but I can't figure out why she would not save herself."

There it was in a nutshell.

"I don't know the answer to that, Nicholas. Maybe she was worried more about how you would react to her being in the hospital. Maybe she really didn't know it was so bad. Whatever it was, it was a mistake. I'm sure she would not have wished anything so painful on you."

He nodded and turned to her with a weak smile. "You're the only person who has ever really understood."

"It's because I've been there. My parents were killed in a car accident only a few years ago. I've kind of been on my own ever since."

"You have your brother."

Jamie managed to conceal her frustration over having forgot that part of her cover. Her mind instantly came up with a plausible lie to save her.

"My brother..." She smiled with an air of regret and brushed the hair from her eye. "My brother was never around. He was too busy to take care of me. After the funeral, he left me with some money and went off to conduct his business. It wasn't until I started to make my own way that he took me into the business."

"He sounds cold."

"Michael is a loner, but since we've been together he's opened up a bit more. Maybe he's finally realized how important we are to each other."

A silence fell between them and Jamie did not know what to expect next. Her heart yearned to reach out and kiss him, but her more disciplined side told her to stick to mission. Even if she was currently on her own time, getting to close to this man could possibly hurt things later.

Things like her heart.

The wind gusted as the last rays of pink over the hills faded to violet, making her shiver and rub her bare arms for warmth. The dress, while perfect for dinner, was certainly not warm enough for being outside during spring. Nicholas noticed and shrugged off his jacket, slipping it onto her shoulders and received a grateful smile in return.

"It's cold out here. I'm sorry for making you put up with my foolish whims."

"It's not foolish. Thank you for sharing it with me." Her words made it clear that she understood him.

"We should go back inside before you catch cold."

"Hmm, okay."

The warmth of the interior felt good and the couple walked around the building for an hour, talking about whatever came to their minds. Jamie could not help but wonder why she felt so different than usual, as if her entire body was buzzing softly with untapped energy. It was distracting in a way, but it also made her heart feel alive, something she was beginning to enjoy.

Nicholas stopped in front of the door to a suite, pulled out a key card, and opened the door for her.

"This is yours and your brother's new room. I hope you find it comfortable."

Jamie could see their bags beside the couch and knew that Michael had already been there.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this for us."

He smiled. "It's the least I can do for the trouble my staff caused you. Well, I guess I had better be going. No doubt my work has piled up while I've been out enjoying myself."

Jamie's heart got the better of her, screaming that she had best move now while she had a chance. She wrapped her arm around his neck and leaned close, pausing to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry for my selfishness..."

He looked stunned at first, probably from her boldness, but as her lips met his he pulled tight to her, not wanting to ever let go. It was a long time before she let go, pulling away with her soft smile.

"Thank you. This evening was the best I've ever had."

"You're welcome. I can't say that I've ever met a woman like you, and it's been my pleasure to be with you tonight." He was smiling, even as he was stepping back from her. "Well, I have to go now."

"Good night, Nicholas. Be well."

She watched him as he walked away and turned the corner to the stairs, listening carefully for his footsteps to fade. When she could no longer hear him, the smile faded from her face and she turned to face the other direction in the hallway, eyeing the adjoining hallway.

"How long have you been there?"

Michael slipped around the corner and leaned against it, analyzing her as usual.

" 'Thank you, you didn't have to do this for us.' I decided it best to hang back rather than ruin the moment."

"Thank you." Jamie entered the room and Michael followed, closing the door and pulling his shoulder rig off. He watched her fumble for a moment with her zipper before he stepped closer and unzipped it for her. He was surprised when she jerked away slightly, obviously shying away from him in a search for privacy.

"Sorry. I was just trying to help."

"I know. I'm just..."

He could see it in her face.

"You're in love with him."

Her face saddened as she thought about it, then turned to him questioningly. "I'm not sure."

"I see..." He moved to the bedroom and started pulling off his tuxedo, pausing to take a gentle whiff of the Chanel No. 9 that Emily had been wearing and had transferred to his jacket.

Jamie continued pulling her dress off out of his sight and then sat down against the wall by the door, warm and comfortable in her flannel pajamas.

"Up until tonight, I wasn't sure I could love anyone but you."

"Are you sure it's love? Is it possible that it might be simple attraction? After all, he is close to your age, and he has a similar story."

The idea wasn't new, but it was something she had not made an effort to think any further about, in order to avoid ruining something she might want.

"It's not that it hasn't come to mind, but I haven't thought about it."

Michael went to the mini-bar and pulled a pair of beers from the fridge. He handed one to her and got a smile in return, showing that she appreciated the effort.

"So," he started before interrupting it with a large pull from his bottle, "what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Are you going to try to make something of this in the next two days?"

"I don't know!"

He could see that his questions were aggravating her, but only in that it was addressing something she refused to think about. She was enjoying herself, and it wasn't his place to deny that to her, but eventually she would be faced with the reality that they could not be together. That reality would be tough for her to cope with if laid on suddenly.

"Jamie, we're finishing up here on Sunday night."

"I know." She _did_ know, and wanted to avoid thinking about it.

"I don't mind if you have some fun, and even spending time with a guy is healthy for you, but you need to remember who you are and what we are doing here. After Sunday you can't see him again, at least not in the foreseeable future. It's hard, but you need to keep that in mind whenever you are with him."

There was hostility to the look she gave him, reminding him that she was not always in control of herself.

"And what if I _do_ choose to stay with him?"

"You and I both know that won't be allowed to happen." He sat down across from her- the better to remind her that he was always near. "Even if I were to consent, the agency would find you and would kill him. Would you wish that on him? Add to that the possibility of a mechanical failure, which you can't deal with anywhere but the agency..."

"This body... I hate what it's turned me into."

She tossed back her head and finished the bottle, tossing it carelessly aside on the floor in order to go back to hugging her knees to her chest.

"Tell me something, Michael... What exactly is my purpose? What is it that I am supposed to be suffering like this for? Vengeance? Certainly that has been a prime motivator in my life recently, but I can't say that I believe that was your intention from the start. So what was it? What did you plan for me to become as a cyborg before you started us on this endless search for justice?"

She needed an answer this time. Brushing it aside would only destroy her inside.

"The only thing I was focused on when this all started- the thing that I wanted most for you- was for you to be alive and well. I figured the consequences and requirements would be worth it if you were able to live. In order to live, you had to be given over to them and their designs."

What was it with all of these damn self-discovery pep talks?

"That simple, huh?"

"No. It wasn't easy at all."

Silence pervaded the room for nearly an eternity as they kept to their thoughts, a silence only broken when Jamie lurched to her feet and stumbled to her bed, already feeling the alcohol.

"It's cruel to keep using me like this. You should either take total control over me or set me free. If you refused to give me choices, I could focus better."

Michael went to his own bed and stretched out, turning off the light. "If I did that, I'd be no better than those who hurt you. They forced your life in a direction by deciding things for you. I have always been committed to steering you towards a direction and letting you do what you need to do to be your own personality."

"You're cruel to leave me hanging like that."

"I care about you, and so I give you as much freedom as I can. I've made sure that I can't own you like the other handlers do. I don't control you, and I don't force you to do anything but the missions at hand."

"Is that so?"

There was a rustling from the darkness and he felt her climb onto his bed, maneuvering to his left side and settling in with the pillow.

"Then why is it that I don't want to leave you?"

"That's for you to determine."

"It's the conditioning, I know. They have programmed me to love you, and so I have to."

"That's just what they told you."

She rolled over against him and he could feel her heart beating rapidly through the arm she latched on to.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's just how it sounds. They told you that you were programmed to love me. Truth is, you're only programmed to be loyal and to protect me. Whatever feelings you might have beyond that are your own. After some problems with the earlier girls, they backed off the devotion programming a bit to ensure stability."

Her heart settled some as she considered the idea. If they did not program her to love him, then it meant that she could make a choice not to.

"If I'm not programmed to love, then why don't I want to leave you?"

"The same reason I don't want to leave you. You've said it before, but I'm not sure you grasped the whole reality of it at the time." He could almost hear her mind working on that, but knew it was going to take time. "You should go to sleep. Maybe you'll dream about it."

The cryptic answer irritated her, and she pulled away, yanking his pillow from under his head and curling up with it, silently daring him to even try to take it back.

"Maybe I will." She responded in a defiant tone, as if she could make it happen at will.

"Good night, Jamie."

Sleep once again claimed them, and the dreams were as frightening as ever.


	19. Chapter 39 to 40

Chapter 39: Images

"Berlin?"

"Yeah, I thought you could finally make some use of that big mouth of yours." Tatyana Sokolov opened a copy of _Brigitte_ and started picking her ensembles for the mission. "Your German is better than mine."

Michael glanced around casually at the surrounding tables and street crowds that made up the Parisian street cafe, taking time to be security minded since Tanya refused to be. They seemed to be in the clear, but he had to wonder why they had traveled to Paris first on a trip from Prague to Berlin.

"It's about time you admitted that I'm better at something."

"You still have to prove yourself to have leadership qualities, Christiansen. Until I sign off on you, you're nothing more than a tool to me."

"I've planned our last three missions to perfection, made life a living hell for the Swiss, and found that mole in the Warsaw branch..."

Tanya's eyes flickered with a mix of annoyance and anger, a sign he had seen a lot of recently whenever she was trying to get something across to him.

"You're technically competent, Michael, but you have yet to learn what it is to be a team. When I said you were a tool, I meant it literally. I can send you in and get information, bodies, whatever I want, but you have no value beyond that, and that is what is so frustrating about you. You refuse to learn how to apply your skills in a form that can shape and manipulate others, be they friend or foe."

He thought about that as he sipped his coffee and she returned to her magazine. He felt better working alone. There was no one to worry about, no one to order him around from over his shoulder. He could accomplish the mission his way and be done with it. But Tanya was constantly telling him to think broader, to expand the scale and scope of an action to a point where he needed others to help. He really did not see why he needed to do that if everything was going so well so far.

As missions went, their station had a perfect record due to the abilities they all brought to the table. They were all perfectly tuned to their positions.

"We're doing well enough as it is. We haven't failed yet."

She guffawed from behind her pages, not even justifying the comment with the lowering of her magazine. "You'll never learn, Michael. Your luck can't hold out forever, and when it fails you, it'll be spectacular. I don't want to be anywhere near you at the moment you realize how incredibly ignorant you are."

The sun was suddenly obscured as a woman stopped at their table. She smiled apologetically, then spoke in a Meridionally accented French.

"Excuse me. Are you the woman who lost her phone in the hotel lobby?"

Tanya looked up from her magazine and tried to focus through the accent, something Michael was entirely unable to do with his functional metropolitan French.

"Err... Yes. It is blue and gray, and has a picture of a puppy on it."

"Good." The woman sat down in a chair from the vacant table next to theirs, handing over a phone similar to the described one, a phone Michael knew Tanya never had. "Emily Lanstrom, science and technology branch, at your service."

Tanya took the phone and thumbed it open to look at it. "How long have you been here, Emily?"

"I finished my time at Camp Peary six months ago and was assigned here immediately after."

"Did you know Jose Cruz?"

The young woman blinked, a sign that Michael read as her wondering if she should actually answer the question. Jose Cruz was an enigmatic man in the S&T division that you only met, and only then learned the name of, if you were exceptional. It was an institutional secret, one the S&T's tried to keep solidly within their ranks, and could not be spoken of by just anyone.

Michael had met Cruz when he had successfully bugged the man's office for a week before detection, having been ordered to by his technical instructor. There were always exceptions to the rule that it stay inside S&T, and Tanya seemed to be another outstanding performer.

"I- I'm not sure who you mean."

She was playing it safe by not answering, but her duplicity would need some work to be convincing. Tanya actually smiled at her and patted the woman's arm.

"It's okay, you don't have to answer. I met him four years ago when I planted a can of silly string in his bottom desk drawer, rigged to nail him in the face upon opening it. He was mad, thinking it was one of his people, but he calmed down when he found out it was someone from Operations, acting on orders from the boss. I got to meet him then...quite a character. He couldn't figure out how I got pass the cameras in the hallway. I never told him that I had crawled in through the vent, even when he asked."

"I see..." Emily ordered a coffee and began to relax, having got past the hardest part of making contact. "So what are my orders?"

"We're taking the night train to Germany. As of now, Miss Lanstrom, you are assigned to the Prague branch. It's good to have you on board." Tanya shook her hand and returned to her magazine, having dispensed with the pleasantries.

"So what do we do in the meantime?" Michael watched the new recruit as he spoke, curious about her and her unorthodox mode of speech.

"Well, I have to go shopping. If you two need anything for the trip, now is the time to get it. We'll meet at the station a half-hour before departure. I've arranged for a private berth, but you two are going to have to share space after the change-over in Cologne."

As Michael looked at Emily's face to find the expected amount of reluctance, the world flashed brightly, as if from a nuclear explosion.

And things were different.

He was suddenly in a utility tunnel of a warehouse, condensation dripping here and there off of pipes, and he realized that things were out of order.

"_Michael, give me the situation_."

Tanya's voice was coming from the radio in his ear, pulling him from one concern and turning him towards another. The mission was going as planned so far, and the readout on his display showed the image from the camera he had placed in the meeting room of their targets.

"All targets are present. Lets start the show."

Emmy patted him on the shoulder and flipped the safety off of her radio controller, readying for the blast she had rigged.

"Lets give them the works."

"_Do it!_"

Emmy pressed the flashing red button and they waited for the blast to flare in the monitor, but nothing happened.

"Um... Okay..."

She pressed it again with the same result, switched channels and tried again, all resulting in a lack of explosion.

"_What's happening?_"

"We're not sure."

"_Are you sure you set them right?_" Tanya's voice was already bordering on hostile, her short fuse no doubt due to her recent late-night booze and pill mixers.

"Yes, I know I did. I don't make mistakes with explosives." Emmy tried to focus on what could be wrong, finally realizing that the cover was loose on the controller's safety button, the one that activated the disarming circuits of the charges. "Michael? Did this get dropped?"

"Yeah. It fell off of the table a little while ago when I grabbed my bag off of it."

"Shit!" She keyed her mike, already knowing what was going to happen. "Tanya, we...uh...have a problem."

"_What?_"

"The fail-safes were activated when the controller fell off of the table earlier. We can't set off the charges."

"_WHAT!_"

Michael winced as the woman's voice sounded in his ear, rattling several fillings.

"The fail-safes I put in have a disarming circuit that burns out the processor on the receiver. This is so once it's activated, it can't be set off without checking it physically. The idea is that if you're using it, something has gone wrong and needs checked on."

They could hear her kicking things around the room her over-watch position was in, her radio on voice-activated transmit.

"Shit, she's mad."

"Yeah..."

The noises faded into a heavy breathing, a sign that her reasoning mind was back in control.

"_Okay... Plan C: Get your asses up there and kill them any way you can. Work as a pair. No one leaves alive. Do you copy?_"

"We copy."

"_DO IT!"_

They took all of their weaponry at hand and started running towards the exit of the tunnel, towards the ground level where the bad-guys were, confident that they could make their mistakes right.

The flash happened again and Michael was looking at the blood-splattered face of Tanya, her stiletto in hand and the corpse of their primary target at her feet.

"Michael... Where's Emmy?"

He had to think, the flash and sudden change in place making things hard to focus on.

"I-uh...I think she went to the west end."

"You let her go alone?" Her hand reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him right up into her face. "God Damn it, Michael! I told you to stick together!"

"I thought I would press ahead to here while she covered that end."

There were shots, high-pitched rifle shots that echoed across the cavernous interior of the building.

"Emily, respond!"

"_I'm pinned down. Need help here!"_

"Damn it!" Tanya sheathed her knife and picked up the AK-47 a guard had dropped as he went down, checking the magazine quickly before racking the bolt. "Michael, this is exactly why I keep telling you to stop doing things alone. Going it alone is only going to get those who aren't as lucky as you killed."

He thought about that as he checked the rifle he had taken earlier.

"Now we have a protracted gun battle, the cops are on their way, and we have to save someone who would not be in a bad spot if it weren't for you. I hope your ego is fucking satisfied."

She led the way from the office and through the stacks, and down a long hallway to the other part of the warehouse. Shooting had stopped there and from their vantage point they could see that Emmy was being held at gunpoint, waiting to be executed.

"Come out now and I promise you your deaths will be quick." The voice was of the second-in-command of the group, now the leader with their master's execution.

Tanya motioned Michael to move to a different position between the stacks, trying to make sure they both had a good shot at the three men holding Emmy. They split up and worked their way along, making every effort not to be seen.

"This one dies in ten seconds if you do not answer surrender." His gun was right against Emmy's head, ready to fire. "One..."

Michael found a spot beneath a workbench, the containers for different do-dads hiding him while providing a perfect place to fire from.

"Four..."

Tanya stalked carefully beside a crate on the far side from Michael, planning to catch the men in crossfire. It was going to be close, but she knew Michael was going to put his marksmanship to the test, so all she had to do was take down the target closest to her.

"Seven..."

The sights on the rifle seemed canted, a problem with the cheaper Romanian AK's that were working their way out of storage. Michael was going to have to make the shot right with a guess.

"Nine... Good bye."

The tip of the front sight was in place where he thought it should be.

The trigger broke and the world flashed again, but the sight picture his mind captured was of Emily's head exploding as his shot went wide.

He gasped for breath at the shock of it, trying desperately to comprehend what was happening to the history he remembered. Emmy was still alive! His shot did not even come close to her, as the steel-cored bullet went through the pistol in the man's hand, disabling it, and caught one of his guards in the liver. Tanya had opened fire and took out the other guard as Michael turned his sights on the tormentor, finishing him with a pair of shots to the chest.

Why were things happening differently?

He and Tanya were now running through the warehouse, the duffle bag of their equipment now heavier with the explosives they were recovering. The cops would be there any moment, and they could not afford to get caught there.

"_I've finished, Tanya. I'm heading for the car._"

"Roger that. Meet us behind the restaurant as planned. If we're not there in thirty minutes, go underground and don't come up until you're clear." She pulled the tape off of the charge she had just found, tossing it into her bag.

"_Understood._"

Michael cut the last charge off of the post and met her at the door to the utility tunnel, just as the first of the German police cars pulled up outside. They barred the door and gathered the rest of the gear quickly, leaving nothing to be found, and then ran for the far end of the tunnel. A hatch linked it with the sewers and they took a winding path through them before climbing out into an isolated alleyway between apartments.

They stopped to rest, feeling exhausted from the fear that had so far remained buried behind the will to escape without forgetting anything.

"Damn it..."

Michael had to agree. "Yeah..."

"Damn you, Michael. I never want to see you fuck up that badly again."

"Yeah. I know."

He could feel her anger towards him. She still felt that he was taking things too lightly. As tired as she was from sleepless nights, she could not tell that he had learned his lesson.

"If you ever do that again, I will fucking kill you."

She started to get up from her crouched position against a wall but froze in place; her eyes locked onto something in a way that Michael knew meant danger. He turned to see where her gun was now pointing, his heart skipping painfully at the sight of a young boy with a soccer ball who was staring at them.

"Fuck all..."

Her eyes were hard slits as she thumbed the hammer of her Beretta back, pointing the end of the suppressor carefully in order to silence yet another obstacle in the way of their escape.

"Tanya... What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning. Leave me alone."

Michael could see that she was serious. She was going to kill an innocent kid to make things work.

The next thing he knew he was on top of her, wrestling the gun from her grip and screaming for the kid to escape in the best German he could muster at that moment. She was strong, chemically strong in the way drunks and drug addicts could be, and it took all he had to hold her arms and legs from landing blows as he tried desperately to calm her down.

There was still blood on her face from her last victim, and the sight clashed with the mix of pleading and hateful looks her eyes bored into him with. He could feel her weakening, her body giving out, and if he could hold on just a little longer, things would be okay.

"Please... Please let me die... I can't go on..."

The rain was starting again and droplets fell on her face, running down and collecting the blood as it passed. Tanya was exhausted, her mind barely conscious, but Michael could no longer bear to see her like she had been, wasting away in a prolonged attempt to die.

"Tanya... Please just live. Live for me, and I'll live for you."

He brought her hands to her face, wiping some more of the blood off as the rain began in earnest, and he felt her body relax as she began to drift into unconsciousness. She was smiling softly.

A shot sounded close to Michael's ear and he felt Tanya's blood spray him. There was a crimson hole in her forehead, just above her right eye, and the back of her head was bloody wreckage. He looked up and recognized the face of Ian Amherst, clad in Death's robes, blacker than the darkened, stormy skies.

"No!"

The muzzle of the gun pressed against Michael's forehead and he could see the evil smile of the man as the trigger was being pulled.

This wasn't what happened. This wasn't the way it happened at all!

"NOOOO-"

"Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy."

Jamie looked up from the clothes she was folding, finding a look of concentration on Carol's face as she read from a small notebook.

"Sigmund Freud. You know, the philosopher?"

"Psychologist, Carol. The man was a psychologist, and not a very good one at that. I can't see how anyone with such pessimistic and conflicting views on humanity could ever help anyone feel better about themselves. What was that one? 'Religion is an illusion and it derives its strength from the fact that it falls in with our instinctual desires'?"

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Not really." Jamie put the folded shirt in place and moved onto the table of jeans that was awry. "Religion is a very real and necessary thing. Perhaps Freud's argument has a bit of merit in that we all long for acceptance and forgiveness from something or someone higher than ourselves, but it's not an illusion. Those with no religious beliefs of any kind are some of the most miserable people in existence, because if you can't believe that bad things happen to you for a reason, or as part of some greater plan, or even as punishment for something, then you're stuck in a pit of your own making. If you realize that, and then realize you have no clue on how to get out, then you begin to think that you might as well end it all, and that's just sad."

"You're not proving your argument, Jamie." Carol smiled and continues straightening the clothes on the racks, enjoying the razzing of her friend.

"My proof is in the way that religion helps people cope. The hand of God comforting a person who has lost everything precious to them is not a figment of the imagination, because no matter how bad that person wants things to be better than they are, their life at that moment is in the hole. When your life had sunk that far, no wishing or good feeling is going to get you out of it. It takes something bigger than ourselves to make that climb, and it is tangible and very real to those who accept it. I've seen it."

"Seen it, huh?" The skeptical look was accompanied by a smile.

"Yes."

Angela popped up behind Jamie and wrapped her arms around her, squeezing tight. "Guess what? I've got a date tomorrow night!"

"That's great!" The happy feeling Jamie and Carol shared for their friend was replaced quickly by the memory of the schedule. "Wait a minute, Angie... you're the only one working tomorrow night."

The girl shrugged apologetically. "I know- that's why I was going to ask one of you to cover for me."

Jamie and Carol looked at each other, both sure the other had plans.

"You were going to be with Michael tomorrow, right Jamie?"

"Er, yeah." As she thought about it, something didn't seem right about the whole scene.

"And I had mass with my parents."

"Oh, c'mon, guys...You know I've been waiting for this guy to ask me out. Can't one of you skip out, just this once?"

It was a tough decision. Jamie did not want to force something on Carol, but she felt like something was very definitely wrong with her, and that made her want to want to ask Michael about it. It finally came down to her friend's pleading face, reminding her so much of the way Maria begged for favors, and she knew she could not say no.

"Okay, Angie. I'll cover for you." She grinned impishly as her friend hugged her again excitedly. "But you have to be sure to tell me every single detail."

There was a flash of light and she found herself alone in the fashions department, still folding clothes. It was raining outside now, she could see through the front doors, and that meant it was another day. Her mind spoke up and told her it was the next day, the day she was supposed to meet Michael.

The thought made her pull out her cell phone and call, hoping that he would not be mad at her for breaking their engagement. His phone rang many times, but he never picked up, surprising given that he was always so eager to listen to her.

"Hey, Jamie?"

Jamie turned to face her supervisor, slipping the cell phone into her pocket and hoping she had not been noticed breaking the rules again.

"Hi."

"Listen, they're backed up again up front. Can you go open a till and cut the lines down a bit? It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes."

"Sure."

Jamie walked to the front of the store but stopped when she found herself surrounded by the sporting goods department. Something was not right with the layout of the store as she remembered. Fashions was always nearest the front and so she should not be getting lost on the way there. She picked a direction at random and went that way, winding between aisles and finally arrived at the front, more confused than ever within her mind.

She picked a lane and put a drawer into the register, flipping on the light above. It was strange that she was the only person working the checkouts- hadn't the manager told her that someone else was there?

"Lane three is open, no waiting."

The customers in line shuffled over; lining up with the usual arguments about who was first and whatever else they thought was so important.

Jamie forced her programmed smile at the first man. "Did you find everything you needed today?"

She felt a cold shock to her spine as she saw the face of the man, her stomach flipping with the fear she suddenly felt. The man was the one from the apartment in Rome, the man she had shot when they were saving Priscilla. The jagged hole in his head from her two nine millimeter bullets still oozed blood, dark and thickly it dripped from his chin onto the floor.

"Yes, I found everything just fine."

"Great!" She hid her fear and disgust as best she could, sliding the bucket of blood across the scanner. The lack of lid made sure that the contents slopped onto the counter, making a mess of things.

"Hey! Be careful with that. Thanks to you I need all that I can get."

What was happening? Was this some kind of dream? It had to be, because nothing else made sense.

"I'm- I'm sorry, sir. I'll just get something to wipe it up with."

"Don't bother. I don't want it any more." The man picked up the bucket and poured it over her head, soaking her in the still-warm, coppery tasting liquid.

Her stomach heaved violently at the smell but there was nothing in her to come up, making the action so much more unpleasant. In the time that it took for her to settle down, the man had gone, making way for the next person in line.

It was Colonel Lombardi, looking sharp in his uniform in spite of the numerous holes in it from the grenade. The eye in the remaining side of his face looked at Jamie and he smiled cruelly.

"It looks like things are not going well for you tonight. Don't worry, miss, it'll only get worse."

If this was happening within her mind, then there was something very seriously wrong. Her programming was supposed to prevent her from feeling remorse for the killing she did, so why was she dreaming this?

The colonel checked out and proceeded to dump his bucket of blood on her as well, and so it went for the numerous other people she faced, all of whom she had killed.

The line finally shrunk down, only two people were left, and Jamie felt her tears mixing with the blood on her face. She had killed so many people and never really shed a tear over it. They were bad people, people who deserved to die, and so why was she suffering like this?

She did not look up at the next person in line. She didn't want to know who it was or remember what she had done to them. Her hand grabbed the merchandise from the counter and slid it across the scanner, feeling confusion at the fact that it wasn't the usual bucket of blood, but a human head. She rolled it over to get a look and then dropped it in shock, screaming at the top of her lungs as the shocked face of Michael met her eyes.

It was Michael's head she had been holding. She couldn't understand why or how, as the reasoning portion of her brain had shut down and left her with only the ability to scream and tremble at the sight. Her eyes looked at the customer and she recognized the face of Ian Amherst, the embodiment of Death.

"You should not have left him alone. It's your fault he's dead."

The man took the head and moved on, smiling evilly at the cowering Jamie as he passed.

She'd had enough. She wanted out of there. Dream or no dream, her mind screamed for any purchase left for her sanity to grab hold of among the waves of guilt being heaved at her.

It was a struggle to think clearly, but she knew that she only had one person left to face before it would all be over with, and if she could make it past that person, she might wake up from this nightmare.

Jamie grabbed onto the counter and pulled herself up from the floor where she had been cowering, feeling the blood sticking to her body like glue, its smell overpowering.

"Di- did you f-find everything o-okay?"

"Yes, Jamie."

A soft, beautiful voice spoke the words, and the clash with the grotesque scene around her made Jamie look up without thinking, her mind seeking any and all relief from the horrors around her. Janet Wells was there, smiling softly, if hesitantly, as she looked at the blood everywhere.

"I've found everything I have ever needed. I am complete, but you still have a ways to go." She pulled a candy bar from the rack next to her and held it out for Jamie to ring up. "I was worried that you were truly lost, but from the look on your face, you are understanding what it means to be human. They could not take it from you."

Jamie tears flowed uncontrollably, washing the blood from her face as she wiped at them. "Why? Why do I have to suffer like this?"

"Because even if you must kill to survive, you cannot forget what it costs your soul. The people you hate are like that, and now they have no soul left to guide them. Losing one's soul is not an easy thing. It takes time and effort, and an embracing of evil that is hard to comprehend. I was afraid that you had fallen into that."

"But I haven't! I fight to live and let others live!"

"I know that. I had to remind you of the costs, though, as there are some who wish you to ignore it. Don't let it stop you from doing what must be done, but never forget that you are still responsible for every life you take. You are free to choose your fate and are also responsible for that choice."

Janet paid and began to walk away but Jamie grabbed her arm in an iron grip, desperate not to let go of the one sane thing in this dream.

"Please? What was the meaning of Michael's head? Is he going to die?"

Janet smiled, smirking at the hopeless girl beside her. "Jamie, we all will die. Angie, Carol, our parents...They're all already dead. Michael and yourself will follow in time. It's just how things go. What should be important to you is how you spend your time with him, and how you can protect him from that man." She nodded at the door where Ian Amherst was watching them, still holding Michael's head.

"What should I do?

"That... That is for you to figure out. It's not that hard Jamie. You do it without thinking. Bye now." She slipped from Jamie's grip and waved as she walked towards the door. "Remember: Shop Smart, Shop S-Mart. Customer service is important."

Jamie tried to follow, her eyes pouring tears as she sought more insight from her former self. She needed to understand more.

Jamie awoke in darkness, her face and pillow soaked in her tears and the blanket clutched tightly in her arms. It was a horrible, horrible dream, and one she never wanted to have again.

The bed was angled funny and she turned her head, able to make out Michael's hunched over form against the slightly lighter darkness of the windows. She placed a hand on his back and felt the sobs coming from inside him.

"I'm sorry, Jamie. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I had a nightmare and woke up on my own. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." His hand reached out and flipped open his phone that was on the nightstand. A few deft button pushes dialed a number and he put it to his ear, waiting for an answer to his rings.

"_Mm...Yeah?"_

"It's me. I-uh...I just needed to hear your voice."

"_Michael? This is really strange... Is everything okay?"_

Jamie could hear the conversation and could tell that it was Emmy that he was speaking with. She was concerned, as well she should be with his calling in the middle of the night with a request like that.

"Yeah, Emmy. I just needed to know you were okay. I'm sorry to wake you."

"_Michael, I-" _He cut off the call and set the phone aside, rubbing his face to try to get some bearings again.

"You had one too?" By which Jamie meant a nightmare.

"Yeah. Things weren't happening the way they should. I dreamt that she was killed by a stray shot from my rifle. I had to make sure that she was okay."

"I see."

Jamie's dream came back to her in it's fuzzy, sepia-toned way, and the only thing she could take from it with any certainty was that she needed to be by his side to protect him.

"Michael?" Jamie rolled back over and tried to get comfortable again, knowing that sleep was unlikely again.

"Hm?"

"Do you see the faces of the people you kill?"

Normally the question would have made him look at her, searching for signs that she was malfunctioning, but somehow, after that dream, it was a question that seemed appropriate for even a cyborg to ask.

"Yes. I see them more clearly than those of the people I have lost."

"They why don't you stop? If the people who deserve to die are taking more of your soul than those you love, why don't you find some way to stop?"

This made him turn around and look at the curled up young woman beside him. In her eyes were fresh tears, signs that she was thinking about her own plight.

"Because I'm an evil person. Since that first man in Prague, I've been tainted. It's like a drop of black dye in white paint. No matter how much white paint or how small of a drop of black, that white will never be as bright again. Since then, it has become the job. I don't like it, Jamie, just as you shouldn't, but it's no longer something I can say I find offensive."

"Does that make me an evil person? If my purity has been lost through the stench of blood and gunfire, does that mean I am gray as well?"

"No, Jamie. You are not responsible for what we have made you. But if we keep this up, there will be-"

"You're wrong." Her hard tone silenced his attempt to make her feel better. "If it's about individual choice, I made it in that basement in Paris. When I killed that man with my hands, I stepped across the line into the darkness that you are in. Darkness... It was a choice I made, not one that was forced on me by what I am or what I've been told. I used my power to destroy, deliberately."

She rolled over and glared at him, tired of being soothed in Michael's patronizing way. "Stop trying to tell me that I'm still an innocent. Maybe Henrietta or Rico are still innocent, but there's no way I can be. It's one of the ways that you are keeping me at a distance- insisting that I'm somehow better than you. You and I are the same, Michael. We both have chosen to bear a burden, to close our eyes and see those we've killed. If I'm going to have to bear that burden, I want you to understand that I am doing it as a woman, not an innocent girl. You wouldn't think that way of Tanya or Emmy, so don't think that I'm any different."

"You put yourself on a high pedestal by comparing yourself to them."

"No. We're all in the gutters, Michael. We are people who scheme and kill for the benefit of others. The benefits rarely reach us, and we take all of the risks. We live, we kill, and we die. We're no better than animals, and that is why we are treated as such."

She had thought it out at some point, he could tell. It was the truth of their work, and she figured it out at the age of eighteen. Regardless of how cruel a life it was, it was a job that had to be done, and while it was something she did not like, she was willing to learn to cope with it. She was mature beyond her years, but there was a little ways to go still.

"So why don't we quit?"

Jamie rolled back onto her side and pulled a blanket over her. "Because quitting means good people die. The truly innocent don't belong here with us, and they don't deserve to die, unaware of the reason why."

"So what you are saying is that we are fated to be what we are?"

Jamie became quiet again, her breathing the only sound in the dark room. It was a long time before she answered, and he had started to think she had fallen back asleep.

"It might be Fate, Michael. Then again, if we are to believe we might have any control over our own destiny, as we both think we are, then we were merely fated to have to make a decision. Our decision sealed our fates."

He lay back in the bed and thought about that circular logic. They were fated to make a choice between being innocent and being tainted, and by choosing to be the tainted, they arrived where they were.

"Jamie?"

"Hm?"

"What would you have done if you hadn't gone to Europe with your friends?"

"I haven't thought about it except for a brief moment when the knife slashed into me. The only thing I had time to think about was whether Carol and Angie would be getting me the same CD again or not for my birthday." She laughed softly, shifting again on her pillow to get more comfortable. "It's funny how the mind wanders to the least important things when it's so close to death."

"Yeah. When I was fading in and out of consciousness after getting shot, I kept thinking to myself that it was going to be hard to get the blood stains out of my shirt, and that I would need a new jacket entirely."

"I think that shows just how foolish we are as a species." This was mumbled into the pillow as she started to drift back into sleep.

Chapter 40

Jamie had thought about things through most of Saturday, mostly in the spa as she let the hot water relax her tense muscles. The quiet solitude allowed her to think all she wanted, perhaps more than she wanted, and she came to the decision she had to make at about the time that Michael had finished with his 'meetings' and joined her in the private bath.

"How long have you been in here?"

"Since lunch. I walked around the grounds a bit on a recon sweep first and then settled in here." She lifted the iced tea from the small table beside her and sipped it, never opening her eyes.

"And?"

"There's several new visitors, which isn't uncommon, but I'm getting a feeling that we're being watched in a casual kind of way. There hasn't been anyone tailing me, so either they're not there, or they're really good." By casual she meant that they were simply watching and waiting to move, rather than watching in order to make a move against them. The difference was in the level of aggression, with the latter making it easier to spot and identify.

"Such people are out there. I ran into a few in Prague."

"Could it be Amherst?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it. I've planted a few trees that will rustle if he gets too close and there is no way he can know about them. It won't give us a lot of warning, but it will give us some."

"Informants?" He had been working in the shadows for a few weeks, doing things that she did not know details of.

"Yes. Money is certainly a reliable bedfellow at times, and doubly so if the informants don't know that they are telling me something important. Knowing the value means that they can be bought and turned against us."

"I see."

They soaked in silence for a while, listening to the ripples of water from each other's movements.

"Aren't you afraid you'll rust if you spend so much time in the water?"

It was a joke, Jamie knew- an attempt to lighten things between them a bit more. His unnecessary humor was something she had been missing for a while.

"Titanium frame with carbon-composites? I've been wanting to go to the beach since Maria said that she and Mario were going to Florida, so I don't think a little hot mineral water is going to hurt any. You're the one I'm worried about. Don't let your water get too cold- you wouldn't want to be embarrassed when you get out."

She was smiling, her face relaxed as if deep in a dream, and her hand lazily flicked at the water.

"When are you going to learn that I have nothing to be embarrassed about?"

"Hmm."

Another silence as the steamed and hot water helped Michael to relax. He was going to need to be at his best for the next night.

"I've been thinking about how to tell him?"

"Eh?"

"Nicholas..."

"Oh. You've decided already?" He wasn't surprised, merely concerned.

"I care about him, Michael, but I'm not sure whether it is love or not. It's a question that I really won't have the time or opportunity to answer, in any case, so I might as well put some distance between us sooner than later."

"It'll hurt."

"I know. I've been shot, and blown up so many times already that I'm not sure I feel pain anymore."

"This you will feel for a while, Jamie. It'll always be there in the back of your heart. It was like that for me and Tanya, even more so after I met her again and said goodbye in Prague."

She opened her eyes to look at him, questioning his motive. "Are you trying to tell me not to do it?"

"No. Just don't burn any bridges, Jamie. You never know what time will bring your way, that's all."

Michael smiled at her and she understood what he was telling her. She should simply say goodbye in a way that would not crush the young man's heart. It should also be quick and relatively painless.

"Okay. I'm supposed to meet him tonight after dinner on the balcony he showed me."

"Balcony scenes are always full of drama. Just make sure he doesn't decide to take a flying leap after you tell him."

"He'll be fine, Michael. He's man enough to deal with things like this."

She closed her eyes again and started walking through the plan. If she did not plan her words they might not come out correctly, if at all, and her patience that she had developed as a cyborg was probably the only thing that was going to get her through that moment.

"She's missing again."

Emily looked around at the crowd in the dining room, trying to find Jamie among the people. Michael glanced up but did not look around, pretty sure he knew what she was referring to.

"Who?"

"Jamie, your partner."

"She has things of her own to attend to."

"Interesting."

The food was delicious yet again, which made it easier to forget the business before them both.

"Where's Smith?"

Emmy glanced around again, but only Michael was familiar enough with her to know that it was done nervously. "He's making the preparations. He liked what he saw in the data, but was frustrated that he could not send it along to the techs. How did you manage that, anyway?"

Michael smiled and sipped his wine, wishing desperately for a decent stiff drink. "It's a secret."

"Even from me?"

He was teasing her a bit with a technological trick that she could not figure out, and he could also see that she found it amusing.

"Especially from you. If I tell you, you could reverse it, and that would not be in my interests."

"I see..." She sipped her wine and frowned, perhaps feeling slighted. Then again, maybe she was only acting. "You still don't trust me?"

"It's not personal, Emmy. Being on the run, having Tanya killed out from under me, and surviving several close brushes with death has made me reluctant to trust anyone."

"Yet you trust Smith to come through on his end?"

"Did I say that?"

She flinched slightly, reading the deadly serious look in his eyes and feeling the signs that he had thus far been hiding with careful control of his body language. It was a shock to her system really, as she had never seen Michael so controlled and dangerous. He was always a man of action around her when they had worked together, and even when he had contacted her in Paris, he was not as covert in his ideas as he had been until now.

"There's something... What are you planning?"

"I have insurance in case Smith screws with me. Your safest action would be to steer clear of us when the transaction goes down. I wouldn't want you to get hurt. I can't trust him, but I trust you."

Michael read her face and saw a sudden realization come over it, but it was there only a fraction of an instant before she covered it again.

"I don't know if that's possible, but I'll try."

Michael did not want Emmy there when Smith was killed. She had been a sudden complication to the equation from the start, and even though he had planned around her, he was still worried. The end of this matter was only a day away. Things had been prepared well in advance and it was only a moment's decision from completion the way he wanted it. Little could go wrong, but Michael would spend the next day worrying about those little things and planning around them.

"By the way, Smith said that he thought someone might be watching you. Do your friends know enough to keep tabs on you?"

Jamie's observations that afternoon were apparently correct. Who it might be was uncertain but the fact that the CIA people had twitched to it meant that it was either Amherst or the agency.

"No. They might still have some doubts about my total loyalty, but I still have freedom to move around. If they are watching me, it's because they might know something else that worries them about my safety."

"Amherst?"

"Yeah, maybe."

The table was cleared and Michael relaxed a little as he watched Emmy eat a small dish of ice cream, or whatever the fancy name was that expensive restaurants used. She seemed content at the moment to let things play out, and there was not any hint of the deceptiveness that she seemed to have the previous night. Maybe it was just his nerves acting up under the strain of his work.

"I got a call from Katherine last night." The last spoonful was gone so she slid the bowl aside and leaned forward on the table, almost as if telling a secret. "She and her admirer spent a romantic evening out last night."

"Really?" The tone clearly spelled out that it had been _all night,_ not just the evening. "That's... that's great. Good for her!"

"I know, right? I haven't had a date in quite a long time and she comes off of her misery-tour and finds someone special that fast. When I get back, I'm going to go hunting."

He laughed with her, both knowing that Emmy was no huntress, even with as much as she had expanded and matured as an operative. Her brashness reminded him a lot of someone else he had known.

"It's the way it goes, I guess... Someone loses someone close, and someone finds someone to get close to."

He was thinking of Tanya, Emmy could see, and the painful look she caught a momentary glimpse of was quickly washed away behind the sip of his wine glass.

"It still hurts?"

He nodded from behind a somber look. "It'll always hurt, Emmy. But I'm not one to destroy myself, so I'm still moving along as best I can."

"I could tell that last night. You didn't flinch when I hugged you- you even seemed relieved by it. Even with a friend like Jamie by your side, are you still that lonesome?"

"Jamie's a great kid, shaping up to be a fine woman, but after Tanya's death, I guess I just needed to feel like I was among our family- the one we had back then. That makes it a lot easier to cope with."

"Family is supposed to be like that. We were all close back in Prague and raising Hell over Eastern Europe. Even with the dangers, it was a lot of fun." She broke out into a smile as one of the many memories came back. "Hey! Do you remember when Gunter went over the back wall of the house he was bugging? The people came back and he had to dive head first over it, and landed in a freshly composted flowerbed?"

"I remember. He looked like an ostrich with his head buried like that. He was lucky I pulled him out as fast as I did, because it was still pretty soggy from the rains. He would have drowned."

Emmy had broken out into an uncontrollable laughter. "And then Tanya made you two walk back because she didn't want the car dirtied up with the sludge!"

They both laughed long and hard about it, letting the laughter taper off into the memory of what came next.

"That was the last time I ever saw him smile." Emily's saddened face was a harsh contrast with the previous moment. "I left for Dresden the next day for a week, and he and Tanya went to Rybnik a few days later. He was killed in that auto accident there. You know, the one with the petrol tanker?"

Michael nodded, knowing the feeling she was having. "Yeah, I remember."

"God, I loved his smile. It was the only thing about him I liked, but there it was when I needed it to lift me up a bit."

Another silence settled in, one that Michael had decided to break with the truth.

"It wasn't an accident."

"Huh?"

"Tanya told me that it wasn't an accident."

It was the first shred of doubt that Emily had ever heard of in the matter. "They got to him?"

"No. We got to him. He was playing both sides of the field."

Emily sat with mouth agape at what she was hearing. "He was turned? When?"

"Some time before Christmas that year, Tanya got a call from the DDO about it. I don't know what was said, in fact I'm guessing that it was even about him, but as I watched her listening to the phone, I saw her get angry. She covered it immediately by turning away, but from then on, she seemed loaded down with the work. You remember how she always used to play poker with us?"

"Yeah. She started declining about that time. She would sit back and read reports, occasionally looking up at us while we played." It was making sense now. "She also started going off on her own a lot more at night, especially to see the contacts."

"From what I could guess afterwards, she spent a little time with the informants and set up her own little mole-hunt for him, just to verify. One of them passed off the bad info to him and he dutifully reported it to Langley and the Polish cell of the SVR. Three weeks later, she took him to Rybnik and came back alone."

"She told you this?"

"Some of it. Even back then we had pillow-talk. When she came back she was pretty shaken, and we would lie in bed in silence, every night until she finally could not hold it in anymore. She said that it wasn't an accident, and that she had dealt with the turncoat in the only way she could come up with at the time. I pressed her for more, but she refused to elaborate. I found out the rest through a bit of careful study of things."

"So it was sanctioned?" Somewhere along the line, someone had decided that the man had to die rather than be brought back in for punishment.

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. I think so. Remember it was the same guy who turned me loose into the hands of the Paris mafia."

"Yes."

He sighed, now wishing he had a lot more to drink. "It hurt her a lot. Gunter saved her life in Warsaw when she was just a newbie. He had been around longer than anyone else on her team and she felt indebted to him. He also didn't hold a grudge when she was promoted to lead the team. I can see now why that phone call made her look like she did. She wasn't angry, she was in pain."

"None of us knew the truth. Hell, none of us even suspected something was amiss."

"Well, sometimes it's best to keep the good memories alive inside us and just ignore the bad ones."

"Yeah."

Michael checked his watch and figured that it was about time to go back to his room. He had a long day coming and needed to be as fresh as possible for it.

"I think it's time I said goodnight, Emmy. I have to check in with the office in case they're getting panicky over anything."

She stood with him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a friendly hug. "Be careful with Smith," she whispered. "He's kept me out of the loop in regards to your transaction, which can only mean he is watching out for me as well."

"I understand."

As she let go, Michael caught another brief flash of uncertainty in her face, and it set his mind back to the previous evening and his feeling that she was hiding something from him. His face remained calm and unchanged, however, and he made his way out of the hall and out to the parking lot to make his call.

The night was crisp, yet edging towards warming up with the high-pressure front moving in. There were a few people milling about on the walkways, chatting away in what to him were unintelligible mutters. The moon was rising above the distant hills, and the smell of budding trees and shrubbery took Michael back to his teenage years and the enjoyment of the warmer evenings of spring that heralded the end of winter.

He thumbed the speed-dial on his phone and stepped down an embankment next to a bridge that ran over the small creek, using the natural sounds and earth to secure his call from anyone with a listening device.

"_Ferro._"

"It's me. We're on for tomorrow night."

"_Good. Let me know if you need anything._" She sounded tired in spite of the relatively early time of night.

"Listen... Tell me honestly. Do you have a team watching out for me from the shadows?"

"_Team? No, why?_"

She sounded honest, at least honest enough that he was now starting to feel concerned about the eyes that seemed to be on him.

"Just a feeling I have, Ferro. Do me a favor and send one of the new, not-yet-active teams to Cremona and have them stand by. I'll meet them there."

"_I think Marco is available. I'll see what I can do._"

"Thanks."

As his hand returned from placing the phone in his pocket, his thumb brushed over the cold steel of his pistol's slide, calming the nerves and bringing a slight smile to the lips. If someone was hunting him, then so much the better.

Jamie was lying motionless on her bed when he arrived, her face planted into a pillow. She didn't twitch as he entered, likely because of the sound his keys made as they bounced around in his pocket.

"I'm back!" He shrugged off his jacket and removed his gun, resting it on the nightstand and testing it's position to make sure that he would have a perfect shooting grip on it should he need it in a hurry. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll live." She rolled her head until she could breathe again. "I told him."

"What did you say?"

"I said whatever came to my head on the spot. The lies just flowed out and he bought every word of it. That you and I were leaving tomorrow night for the new position you have in the company, and that the things he and I shared were something I'll always cherish."

Michael sat down beside her and patted her back, lending a little support to her. "You won't cherish them?"

"I'd rather forget them. At least it would stop this pain inside."

"I'll tell you what I told Emmy tonight: Sometimes it best to keep the good memories inside us and just ignore the bad ones. It's not easy and it's not permanent, but it can help ease the pain a little."

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

The light was switched off and Michael rolled over into his pillow, clutching it tight as his memories of Tanya started flooding back, having relaxed the dam that had been holding them in check. He shut his eyes tightly and willed himself not to cry, refusing to worry the young woman in the other bed with something that was impossible to fix.

"Michael?"

"... Yeah?"

"It doesn't work."

"I know."

The morning came quickly, but without the nightmares that had plagued them both the previous night. Michael enjoyed the sight of the peaceful Jamie as she slept, stretched every which way across the bed and tangled up in her covers, and snoring softly. She was relatively harmless now- a state that would change drastically the moment she awoke and started thinking towards the evening's events.

He rolled out of bed gently and stepped as quietly as possible to the other room, flipping on the television and muting it, then ordered room-service for a light breakfast to start the day. They had both taken a liking to the coffee the hotel served and if there was one good thing he would keep from this adventure, it was the appreciation of the expensive food.

Michael moved into the bathroom to start the day and as he exited ten minutes later, there was a rustling of the covers in the other room- a solid thump as Jamie rolled herself out of bed onto the floor.

"Ugh... Mmph... I'm hungry."

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, to which Michael traded a fair tip for a tray of coffee and assorted fruits and breads. Jamie stumbled out of the bedroom and sagged into a chair, still not quite awake.

"You know, you're starting to sound like Maria when you wake up. 'Food! Food! Foooooood'!"

The coffee snapped her awake in an instant. "My metabolism is twice yours, maybe higher, and I get a lot more exercise. On top of that, I have been eating this rich-person food with such small portions, so as a result I'm slowly starving. If I'm going to be of any use tonight, I have to get some strength built up."

A peach disappeared in less than five seconds, victim of a two-bite attack from the girl. Michael managed to snag an apple from the bowl before Jamie took it into the bedroom to eat while getting dressed. "What's the dress code for tonight?"

"Casual, with a hint of Russian."

"I think I can do that. It just means I have to look like I'm depressed or unhappy with everything, right?"

"Funny."

The news in Italy was bland on the best of days, being largely a political tool, so he flipped to the cable news channels to get an eye on things back in the U.S. Things were moving along a lot smoother there as of late, but it only made Michael remember the fact that he could not return there.

" 'I bet they're asleep in New York. I bet they're asleep all over America'. Dreaming dreams of freedom and prosperity."

"That's not in the movie." Jamie returned to the room and placed the empty fruit bowl back on the tray, the cores and peels providing evidence of a ravenous beast's existence. She downed another cup of coffee before going to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

"Huh?"

"That last part- It's not in Casablanca."

"Oh, yeah. Next was the gin-joint line."

She leaned against the doorway, staring at him as she slowly brushed. "You miss it, don't you?"

"Yeah. I've been missing it more of late. Tonight will be the final step in alienating us from our original homes."

The thought worked in Jamie's mind as she finished with her teeth. They were both exiles of sorts, but that wasn't the same as throwing it away or turning one's back to a home.

"Saturdays..."

"What?"

"I miss Saturdays. Waking up and realizing that the whole weekend was ahead of you, if only you made the effort to get out of bed. Concerts and barbecues, cartoons, and the afternoon in the sun..." Her blue eyes twinkled a little as she spoke and reminded him that he wasn't alone here in Europe.

"Yeah." A thought struck him as he finished his coffee and it brought a smile to his lips. "When we get this bit of excitement over with, lets get some food and have a barbecue."

"As in actually grilling something?"

"Sure. We'll listen to some NASCAR on the radio, drink some beers, and grill up some steaks and ribs. It'll be a lot of fun."

He could see a sad smile on her face as she slipped her holstered gun into her jeans, a sign that she wasn't buying into it at all. "Just the two of us, eh? That'll be a whole lot of laughs."

Michael could understand her frustration. It just wasn't much fun without it being a party atmosphere.

He pulled his jacket on after making sure his gun was snug in the shoulder holster and switched the TV off as he passed it. "Lets get things set up for tonight. Work is the best thing to take your mind off of the problems of the world."

"Right. Everything is going to go as planned."

It was quiet for a Sunday night in spring. A relatively warmer temperature, the lack of any breeze, and an eerie lack of insect noise made the walk to the stone bridge traversing the creek seem sinister in nature. It probably didn't help, Michael thought, that the business of the night was premeditated murder.

Jamie was beside him, dressed in jeans, leather jacket, and a Chicago Cubs baseball cap, her hands tensed to go for her gun at an instant. She was as alert as she had been when she broke into Christobal Ricci's mansion, with every subtle noise being picked up by her sensitive, unprotected ears, and followed up with a glance from the piercing blue eyes.

The light over the bridge was out, bathing it in darkness but for the rays of a two-thirds moon that peeked through the branches of nearby oak trees. The water babbled through the stones littering its length, causing a bit of interference in Jamie's hearing that she was uncomfortable with, shifting nervously as they waited, his arm around her for support.

"Nervous?"

"No."

With the light of the moon, Michael could just make out her eyes; their pupils dilated so wide that she looked like an owl. Truly she was a creation better suited to her surroundings than any normal human.

"Footsteps. Two pair: men's and ladies, with a slight rustling sound, like a nylon jacket."

"Anything else?" Michael smiled at her ability, knowing that she was likely correct.

"We're being watched by someone else."

_That_ got his attention, making him look around intently for a moment. "How do you know?"

"I can feel it." Jamie moved away from his side to the far side of the bridge and stood peering into the blackness that was the wooded lane.

"Mister Christiansen..." Randall Smith approached from Michael's side of the bridge with Emily in tow; both dressed casually, though a significantly more expensive form of casual.

"Mister Smith. I'll be glad to get this over with tonight. I get the feeling that I'm starting to seem suspicious to the people in Rome."

"Are they watching you?"

"No, at least I don't think they are. They're too busy chasing after Dante Giacomo to waste resources on watching me. Besides, I would know if anyone in the agency possessed the skills to tail me."

"I see. Well, your reputation speaks for itself, so let's get down to business, shall we?"

Smith hoisted an aluminum case onto the stone railing and opened the latches and lid, revealing stacks of Euros.

"Eight million dollars in Euros. You'll get the rest when you turn over the data and key in Poland."

Michael wasn't fazed a bit by the lack of American Dollars- it wasn't possible to fit anywhere near that amount in dollars in the Zero Halliburton case. He pulled a wrapped stack of the five-hundred Euro notes from the bottom of the case, randomly selected, and flipped through the stack to verify the authenticity. A glance at Smith's smile proved to Michael that the man was on the level, at least this far, and that the case contained exactly the amount stated.

"Okay. I guess we can go along with this for the time being." Jamie was beside him and started to take the case, but he brushed her hands away, keeping it for himself for the moment.

The pair of CIA agents started to lead them off of the bridge and towards the parking lot, but Smith turned suddenly, aiming a suppressed Glock 19 at Michael's head, only feet away. Jamie started to move to defend him but Emily's hand held a Five-seveN and aimed it very purposefully at Jamie's right eye, stopping her cold. It only took a glance at Emmy's eyes to show that she had thought of every way out of the situation, and that her gun held duty-grade SS190 rounds, capable of piercing her chest armor, let alone killing her through the eyes.

"There are a few things we need to discuss, Michael. Namely the way you have set up multiple CIA agents and led them to their deaths." Her voice was deadly serious.

It was news to him, but he could see in Emmy's eyes that she was operating on information from Smith- information that led her to believe that Michael was guilty. She had been sitting on her knowledge, acting her heart out to avoid blowing the 'surprise' in his presence, and making sure that he was sufficiently off-guard to be taken down like this.

"I see. This was one hell of a set-up, Smith- I have to hand it to you. Emmy, your acting was incredible, and I don't think even Tanya could have seen through it. I knew Smith might try to cross me, but I never suspected you to have it in you."

He carefully set the case down, as slow as possible, and saw Jamie at the edge of his vision, seething like a trapped Ratel and waiting to strike if given half a chance.

"Now, you say that I've set up agents to die. I'd like to hear the evidence against me before you carry out my sentence. It has to be something pretty convincing to make a trusted ally turn on me."

Smith relaxed slightly, feeling, quite rightfully, that he had won. He motioned for Emmy to tell him, so he could know it was the truth.

"It was hard to believe at first, but I knew when you told me your version of what happened to Gunter that you were the one behind it. Tanya wasn't someone who would plan an _accident_ of that scale and rely on only herself to carry it out. You were there, in Rybnik, and helped her to take him out. That's how you were moved up in the team to her second-in-command. I checked into it last night with a couple of calls to people who owe me favors. At that time, Tanya was also checking up on you because she thought you might be in with Gunter and the Russians. It all clicked when you lied to me last night. You _were_ working with him, and sold him out to move up the ladder and remove the suspicion on yourself."

Michael couldn't help himself. He laughed aloud- stunned by the evidence he had just heard. "That's your proof? Jesus, Emmy, you're being played. Is he the one that set you onto that?" He nodded at Smith and could tell by her eyes that he was right.

"Explain it!"

"Okay. Yes, I was there. I'm the one who rigged the small charge on the tanker to cause it to wreck into Gunter, who was being timed and positioned by Tanya. Her inquiries into my moves were conducted to eliminate me as a suspect in the leaking info. She couldn't take the chance, as the phone call only said that there was a leak, and it was either Gunter or myself. I found out all of this afterwards."

"Then explain Katherine's husband and the other agent in Calais." Doubt had started to creep into her mind and body, and that was a good thing because it would allow Jamie to strike. "They were agents that had worked the surveillance of you and Gunter, and had filed reports saying that you could be the leak. They never really trusted you in Paris, and disliked working under you. If you had been cleared, they would not have been so distrusting. Their deaths seems convenient for you, and the suspicious nature of it is why you were ousted."

"That was an accident and bad judgment on my part. They died because I fucked up, not because I knew they were suspicious of me. Hell, I didn't even know that they worked that case until just now. I always thought they simply didn't like my command style."

"Liar!" The gun twitched towards him and Jamie tensed to attack Emmy, but the solid aim of Smith's gun at Michael made her hold back, struggling for patience. "Even the Director had doubts of your loyalty by then. Every time you moved there were teams of people watching you, recording you, analyzing your actions..."

"And they had no definitive proof, so they could not bring me to trial. So they released me into the soup of my own making, hoping I would turn up dead. If I were guilty, they would have the evidence and I'd be rotting in prison. Even I'm not that careful and cunning."

Even as he said it, he had to admit to himself that the evidence was certainly pretty convincing, if circumstantial. There was more, though, as what he had heard so far was not likely to shake her loyalty to him.

"C'mon, Emmy. What convinced you to turn on me? There has to be something more."

"It was Tanya. She had me looking into the information held by Langley, since she had been coded out of it. The French theatre information was accessible to me because it was my area of operation, and I could get the sources-classified stuff that she couldn't. It was my idea, because I knew that the deep-cover agents and sleepers in the region might have to be accessed at some time, and therefore I had to have access to their info. I started digging up the Excalibur murder information and came across your name, once again on the list of suspected people involved."

"True. I was an unknowing participant in their target selection process. It's something I regret not having realized earlier, as it would have saved lives. But that was after I was kicked out."

"No! It was in regards to my sister!" There were tears now, and Michael could sense thing starting to go further south for him as she lost control. "You set her up in those months before you were kicked out. You were working, willingly, for Amherst all that time. The information crossed with the ties you had to the Paris mafia. You spent a lot of time building up contacts there, and the investigation into my sister's murder led back to you as having set it all up as a payment to Excalibur from the mob."

It was treading into pure misinformation now. There had never been such a connection, to his knowledge, in the rank and file of the underworld that he had infiltrated. He had been a misinformer, a liar, positioned to make the mob lean slightly in a direction that the CIA found advantageous at the moment.

"I couldn't possibly have been in such a position."

"Liar!"

Emmy's gun swung onto his head and Jamie started to move to take advantage of it, but Smith was ready and switched targets to Jamie to cover. He carefully switched positions with her to keep the firing lines from crossing, taking up a position a half step in front of her and to the right side.

"Emmy, listen-"

"Shut up! I know it's why you killed Tanya, too. You set her up because she was getting too close. She was gathering information for the agency on the program you're involved in, and since she got too close, you had your friends in Ex-Co kill her."

"Now you're just talking crazy. I loved her. How could I ever do such a thing to someone I love?"

"Because you're a fucking monster, Michael. You're a monster who has conned everyone into believing you're some sort of saint who simply has bad luck at the worst possible moments. You get some perverse pleasure out of sending people to their death, or the knowledge that you had enough power over them to do so."

Smith was smiling but Emmy couldn't see it. Michael knew then that his initial impression of the man had been right.

"Miss Lanstrom, end it now."

Even as tears poured from her eyes, Emily aimed the gun with her steady hands; hands Michael had taught to shoot dispassionately and unaffected by the emotions of their owner. She smiled, knowing that things were going to be different from here on.

"Goodbye, Michael."

The trigger started to move and Michael stared at it, feeling as if the entirety of the universe had broken free of its restriction called reality. There was simply no other way to explain how a trusted friend could be so moved by false information. Jamie had started to move towards him to act as a shield and Smith's gun and head began to turn to follow her, the safety lever in the trigger starting to move through its deadly motion.

Emmy's hand swung right and the gun fired, driving the five-point-seven millimeter projectile from the barrel and through the side of Smith's head as he turned. The bullet lanced through his skull, hardly tumbling at all in-between layers of bone, but he was dead almost instantly anyway, his turn making him fall forward and land on his face with a sort of scrunching thump as he hit the stone bridge.

Jamie was stunned by the event, enough so that she withheld her attack on Emmy even without Michael's suggestion. As they all cooled off from the moment, Emily shook slightly and started to wipe her eyes to dry the tears that she had struggled so hard to bring forth.

"What just happened?" Jamie's words were an echo of Michael's thoughts.

Emmy smiled victoriously and holstered her gun, pausing only to remove the suppressor. "Just a bit of house cleaning." Her hand pulled a cell phone from her pocket and she dialed a number, one Michael vaguely remembered from the tones. It seemed like it hadn't had a chance to ring before she spoke.

"Mission accomplished, sir." There was a confused face a she listened to the words from the other end and Michael looked to Jamie to find a similar look as she focused to hear what he could not. "Yes, sir."

She flipped the phone around and hit the speaker option as she had evidently been ordered.

"_Thank you, Mister Christiansen, for your hard work in this matter_."

The voice of George Rathbone seemed to grate on his nerves with the events of the evening being so serious. If Orson Wells had been alive, Michael would have killed him just for sounding like the man.

"What matter?"

"_This little mole hunt I've been working on for some time. You see, it's so easy to move the pieces into play, but the hardest part is keeping the opponent in the dark long enough to make them trap themselves. Incidentally, Smith there was the man who was about to kill you on behalf of Ian Amherst, but then you already had guessed that, am I right?_"

"I was a little slow on the connection, but I knew someone from the CIA was on his payroll. How did you find him?"

"_When he asked for the information on the Rybnik incident, I knew that he could not have any use for it but to hunt you down. You're the only one left involved in it, except of course for the person who gave the termination order for Gunter. Or the person who replaced that man._"

"The former DDO."

"_Correct._ _You see, he was getting the information and altering it enough to use on Miss Lanstrom, and the only reason he would do that was to use her against you. You would trust her so far that she could get in close and finish what he could never do alone._"

Emmy was still smiling, Michael saw, but there was more than that to her. She felt victorious above what one would feel for killing a traitor.

"And I'm guessing that you told Emmy something about him that set her up for the acting job she had to give both of us."

"Smith was the German station chief back then, Michael, and he's the one who arranged for my sister to fall into Ex-Co's sights."

"What?"

"_He was just starting to work for Amherst at the time and needed to prove himself. Smith was in debt then, something we keep a track on with our NOCs to gauge whether they can be turned, as you well know. He was slick about it, but he turned over Lanstrom's sister and sealed his deal with Amherst, and no one was the wiser._"

"Damn. If I had known that, I would have popped his ass in Rome, right on the embassy doorstep."

"_Yes, well, I was hoping to keep things quieter than that. The best I could come up with was this overly elaborate plan to set him up with your agency's information, which he would naturally sell to Amherst. It was remarkably convenient that it meshed with his task to eliminate you for Amherst._" The smugness from the other end of the line was sickening.

"I'm surprised he didn't see the trap in it." He kicked the body at his feet.

"_I was watching him, Christiansen. It's not as if it was a coincidence. I knew that Amherst would use him to get to you, and so set my plan in motion even before Amherst thought of using him._"

Michael had to admit that, assuming Rathbone was being truthful, that it was one of the most well orchestrated smoke-outs he had ever seen.

"_There is no place in my ranks for people less-loyal to their country than to others, which is why I am cleaning house. This is why, Emily Lanstrom, that I hereby dismiss you from the Central Intelligence Agency, and advise you that you are now persona non grata, as is Katherine Bates, your unfortunately- named friend in Paris. I trust the money in the case will be an adequate severance package for the hard work and sacrifice the two of you have put in._"

Emmy was stunned, though Michael knew that the full reality of her new status would hit her later, just as it did with him. Rathbone was targeting people Michael had worked closely with, and were there not so many dead among them, George might consider the total experience he was giving up to be less-affordable. He had obviously been hard at planning for this moment for some time, and that meant that a piece of the puzzle that Michael had not yet been able to find had been hidden by someone unexpected.

"Tell me about Tanya, George."

Emmy looked at Michael, suddenly realizing what she too had missed.

"_Tatyana Sokolov..._" There was a sigh from the other end, as if he were tired of thinking about the subject. "_Her loyalty was only to you, Michael. I don't know where she found some of that information that she passed along, but I know where it was not. She was a traitor, and was dealt with using the same, err... enthusiasm, as my predecessor had._"

"You son of a bitch! You set her up!"

"_She sold herself out, Christiansen. When she chose you over her country's security, she sealed her fate. She was aware of how close we were on her heels, and that is why she went to Rome. Your lack of protection is a large part of how Amherst got to her, but if you're wondering who it was that allowed her location to be known to Smith, and through him Amherst, then yes, it was me._"

Michael turned beet-red, his jaw clenching hard to restrain the fierce sea of hatred that was roiling inside him. He snatched the phone from Emmy's hand and held it close to his mouth; speaking quietly with anger in such a way that his words could not fail to get across.

"Listen to me you ferret-faced little cock-sucker... You had better make sure your insurance is paid up, because when I get my hands on you, I am going to- to..."

His hatred had started to boil over as he thought it through, so much so that he could not speak. For someone who was normally as cool and in-control as Michael, a loss of words spoke more about what was going to happen than the actual words could ever convey.

"_Please... You can't even get into the country now, Christiansen. Do you really think that you could ever get to me? I'm the Deputy Director of Operations for the CIA! Which reminds me, I have a meeting to attend to shortly with the President, so I'm afraid that I have to be going. Don't worry about the body- my clean-up crew is going to take care of it. It wouldn't do for Miss Lanstrom to be suspected of murder on my account._"

"I'm going to bury you, right after I'm done burying Amherst. Make sure you're watching for me."

"_Don't make things any more difficult for yourself, Christiansen. You have your life, you have money, and you have your freedom. Given my options, you should be thankful that I've let things end as they are. Don't make yourself any more of a pain than you are. Just... walk away. That is the end of it, Christiansen._"

The call was cut and Michael was left holding the silent phone, still trying to understand just how far into the depths the conspiracy had run. Emily took the phone from him and moved off to the side of the bridge, dialing a number quickly and then speaking in hushed tones.

"Michael." Jamie's voice was a calm, if concerned, breeze in the hot, sweltering atmosphere of his mind. "Michael, we have company. I think we should move off somewhere else."

He looked to where her eyes were locked, on the five people who had appeared from the pitch-black woods that Jamie had been looking into earlier. They were dressed in suits, all the same, and they wore sunglasses to complete the disguise, even in the darkness.

"That is so cliché." Emmy let the men approach and then handed her gun over to one, having cleared it first. She took Michael by the arm and steered him to the path that led to the hotel, resisting the urge to look back until they were out of sight. "I called Katherine and warned her. She's packing and will be in Munich tomorrow morning. I'm supposed to meet her there."

"You told her the news?"

"I told her that we are compromised and that we can't rely on the Agency to protect us. We had a plan for this and she'll be just fine. In the meantime, I have to get that money laundered and get to the rendezvous, so that means I can't hang around to talk. I have to go now."

He understood and would not hold her up but for one last question.

"Emmy?"

"Yes?"

"How did you manage that act? How were you able to keep your sanity through all of that, even as one of your sister's killers was right next to you, waiting to die?"

Emmy smiled again and wiped a genuine tear from her eye, but then returned to the strengthened woman he had seen of late. "I've asked myself that a few times already, and all I can come up with is that the man deserved to die. Someone had to step up and take control, and I was the best person for it. Tanya taught me that. No one can stand in the way of true justice as long as someone is willing to devote themselves to it."

She took a few steps away and waved at Michael and Jamie, giving an unspoken hope for their success in their own mission. She then turned and jogged up the hill, disappearing from sight and leaving the two to their questions.

"What does it all mean?" Jamie's question was her soul speaking out against the injustices and confusing judgments of Fate that seemed to surround them constantly, as if to swallow them whole should they ever give up treading water in their fight to stay alive.

Somehow Michael knew exactly what she was speaking of, and fortunately had an answer of sorts.

"It means that we can't stop. We're a truck without brakes heading headlong into the side of a building, and hoping to hell we hit the door instead of the wall."

"That's what I thought."

The car was where they left it that morning, packed and ready to move. There was a bouquet of flowers on the hood, however, and it was clear that they were meant for her. The set of a dozen roses had a single red among the yellows, eliciting a questioning look from Jamie as she climbed into the car.

"There's no card."

"I'd imagine it's from Nicholas." Michael started the car and drove onto the road, relaxing as the car sped into the night, further and further away from CIA gremlins.

"But why the single red?"

"Well, I'm not sure it translates directly into anything, but usually a mix of red and yellow represents a friendship that the sender is hoping will become something more."

"So a single red among yellow..."

"It means you can talk to him as a friend if you ever need to, and that he'll always carry a special place for you in his heart. Or something."

"I see."

In the glow of the dashboard lights Michael could see her warm smile. Even if she had put the young man off he was still hopeful, and perhaps she was too. Their lives were so entwined in the whimsical lines of Fate that they could not know how things could turn out for certain, but there was certainly every reason for them both to make it through the tests ahead alive.


	20. Chapter 41 to 42

Chapter 41

Sometimes a drive in the middle of the night can seem like an eternity, regardless of how short the actual distance might be. The trip from the spa to Cremona was only a little more than an hour, but at three in the morning the dark road seemed to stretch into days of travel, interrupted every so often by a comment from Jamie on Michael's music selection.

Whatever her musical yearnings, Jamie's heart and mind did not trend towards the classical style, though the curious look on her face as she listened to portions of the music showed that her ears, at least, had an interest. As the brass tones of Shostakovich's _Festive Overture_ swelled and was picked up by the winds section at a rapid pace, Michael could see Jamie's mind turning it over in her head in order to understand it with her limited knowledge of orchestral phrasing.

"It feels whimsical, but strongly directed to some end. Like an aging horse who, having been set free into a large pasture, decides to give his legs one last romp, because it'll be his last."

"Very insightful. The man was held as a remarkable composer in his time, even by westerners. That piece was created in three days as a favor to a friend, who suddenly found himself in need of a piece for his performance, and needed it in a hurry."

"I'm curious as to what you get out of such music though. To be honest, you don't seem like the refined type that could find solace in classical."

It was relaxing in a way. Both the music and Jamie were taking his mind away from the hatred that had flashed so hot through him at George's revelations. Michael could not have anticipated that he had sold Tanya out, though Smith had been someone he could believe would do it, now that he knew of the connection with Amherst.

Now, as the music filled the car, Michael could feel his body calming back down to a point where his brain started thinking ahead again. Amherst was going to blow his stack at having missed Michael again, and also at losing his CIA source of information. Smith had likely been helping him to keep out of the way, as well as tossing him a few bones on business contacts. The CIA kept every tidbit of information on file and well organized, and it would only take a computer search to find out who the suspected arms, drug, and porn dealers were in any given area. Such information would be gold in the forming and maintaining of a black market network.

So... What would the result of this be? What could Amherst do to get to Michael now?

"I'm hungry. Can we stop some place and get breakfast?"

Jamie wasn't one to complain about being hungry, particularly immediately after a mission, so her plea seemed disconnected from her usual self.

"It's four in the morning, Jamie. It's not like there's a Denny's here that we can stop at."

She reached over and hit the button on the in-dash GPS to bring up the facilities directory. There, about three miles further up the road, was a gas station. It wasn't much further to get into Cremona, but there was no real reason to get a hotel room at this hour. Perhaps a bit of food and an hour's sleep in the car was going to be the right idea after all.

"Okay. We'll stop and get something. Skip the coffee and energy bars. I want you to get a little sleep before we meet with Marco."

"Alright."

The station was open, and even more surprising was that it was an American style with an actual convenience store. In a place where things were just different all of the time, it seemed incredibly out of place to Michael's mind. He was about to follow Jamie out of the car when his phone started ringing, the screen flashing the number of a person who was calling earlier than expected. He waved Jamie to continue with her mission, perhaps preferring that she not hear what was about to be said.

He answered the call, setting himself to contain his anger this time. "That was an expensive mistake, Ian. I trust you understand now that you're not just dealing with me, but also competing for the right to kill me. If I had to place a bet, my money is on Uncle Sam."

"_I might be running out of assets to attack with, but you're also running out of the layered protection that you're cowering beneath. Smith was a valuable source of information, to be sure, but you don't actually believe that I have been using my best pieces, do you?"_

Jamie was paying for the stack of things she picked out, so he had to make it quick.

"Listen Amherst, I'm not hiding behind anything but my gun. You and I are heading for a meeting that you are not going to survive, and if I have to cut my way through your biggest and baddest lackeys, it's going to happen. There is no way you can stop me, short of putting a bullet in your head and saving me the trouble."

"_My, my... you are confident, aren't you? You think it's going to be easy to finish our little story? I will go down fighting, just as you intend to. Your little girl is going to be mine, and I'm going to make you suffer, just as my blonde plaything did before I blew her brains out. I haven't decided whether I'm going to cut the girl in front of you or if I'll make her watch you suffer, but I AM going to have satisfaction."_

Jamie was finished inside and she started walking towards the car, her pace slowing as she looked cautiously into the darkness surrounding the station.

"If that's the only way you can get it up, then I guess you've got bigger problems than I thought."

"_Oh, I have no problem getting anything up, Christiansen. In fact, I have a cute little thing here that I picked up in Verona. She reminded me a bit of that girl your friend Greco had with him, so I thought I'd give you a call to let you know that I'm still out here, waiting for you."_

There was a yelp of pain on the other end of the line, followed by a weak cry- the cry of someone who had given up resisting and was awaiting their fate.

"_She's a darling, this one is. Her little brother gave the lads a good time, but I saved her for myself."_

Michael had wanted to end the call before Jamie could return but she was already there, climbing in beside him as he listened to the gasping breaths of a young girl.

"_Are you there, Christiansen?"_

"I'm here." His voice hardened and his knuckles turned white on the phone, making the plastic frame creak softly as the pressure on it increased.

"_Good. Then I trust you'll know this sound."_

There was the distinct sound of slicing flesh and a scream of pain. Another slice quickly followed, and then another, each one making Michael's stomach jump into his throat. He had to close his eyes to avoid looking at Jamie, as he was too afraid to see what she thought of the sounds she could not help but hear.

There was a final slice and a gurgling sound, the singular sound of a throat being slit. Michael felt sick. His hands were sweating and his mouth watered uncontrollably, forcing him to swallow often against his churning stomach.

"_Christiansen?"_

It took Michael several deep breaths to be able to speak. He felt Jamie's hand on his- a hand that pulled his clenched one from the steering wheel and held it tight, giving him strength.

"I'm here."

"_You couldn't save this one. You couldn't save the others. You could not even save your own girlfriend. So, if I might ask, who exactly are you trying to save? You obviously are having a tough time making any progress in the saving of people. It seems that the bodies just keep piling up and yet you have saved no one. Not one."_

"I've saved one, you sick bastard, and when you meet her again you will pay dearly for every life you've taken." His hand clenched Jamie's tightly, strengthening his resolve. "I promise you that."

"_Don't keep me waiting, Christiansen. My appetite is insatiable."_

He ended the call and turned the power off, taking time to sort his thoughts and calm his stomach from the terrible thing he had just been a witness to. Jamie took a bottle of water from her shopping bag and pressed it to his forehead, hoping its cold would help a little in calming him down.

"I'm sorry, Jamie."

"Don't be. We're doing the best we can in trying to find him. It just takes time." She settled back into the seat when he brushed the bottle away, and in spite of her hunger, she really didn't feel like eating anymore.

"Time that other people don't have. It was a boy and a girl this time. He just keeps on killing, regardless of the fact that it's leading us to him."

Jamie's blue eyes shifted to the view outside the car and tried to focus on the darkness, wishing that answers could be found easily within.

"He knows he will die. I think there's a bit of humanity left in even the worst murderer, and it's a voice crying out for someone to end their actions. They are beyond repentance and salvation, but they can still hope for an end to the burning of their souls that occurs with every victim. You don't need a conscience to have that desire. It's why, in the end, most murderers get themselves caught or self-destruct."

Michael look at her, knowing that he had never told her anything like that. "Where did you hear that?"

"It's something I know. The conditioning and nature of the work might make it acceptable for me to kill, but it's no more right for the soul than murder is. Even now there's a part of me that screams out for an end to it all. Perhaps even a desire to be killed so that I no longer have to slowly die a bit more inside every time I end a life."

There was no real trace of the conditioning left inside her, at least not in regards to the morality of killing. She was now operating on her own will with only physical help from the agency's programming. She didn't hesitate to kill when she needed to, and her body resisted pain, fatigue, and fear because they had made her like that. But where the other girls were forced by chemical and brainwashing means to ignore the morality of their actions, Jamie was dealing with it every time she killed.

"Why do you keep doing it?"

Her eyes were serious as they locked onto his. "Because I am called to do it. It might sound farcical, but I feel that I am still here because I have to bring an end to Amherst. It's gone beyond a civil duty now. You might even say it's divine Providence."

"Providence... a state in which God is the sustaining or guiding power in one's destiny."

"You find that hard to believe, Michael?"

She wasn't depressed about the idea. In fact, she seemed buoyed by her belief that she was doing God's work, another sign of the way in which the agency had lost control of her. Faith made a lot of things seem okay, something the Crusades and Inquisition seemed to bring home when considered.

As he watched her sip her water, smiling softly as she went about her own thoughts, he could understand why she felt that way. Her life had ended and she had been given a new one, one with an arguably just cause initially, but Fate had brought them both into a position to fight something greater than themselves, something personal to both.

There was no doubt in Jamie's mind that her purpose was to fight this evil they knew, and the acceptance of this singular purpose was the reason she was no longer unstable around him. The woman inside her who was screaming for vengeance found her reasons to be in line with her beliefs.

"No. No, it's not hard to believe at all. Not anymore."

He started the car and drove on towards Cremona.

A solid knock on the window startled them both from their sleep and Michael had to lean Jamie's sluggish form towards the other side of the back seat in order to free up an arm to roll down the window. Marco was there with Priscilla, smiling at the tired pair in the car as they tried to blink their eyes to adapt to the morning sun.

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Ugh, no. What time is it?"

Priscilla glanced at her watch before tossing in a paper bag with breakfast inside. "Ten-thirty."

"Shit. Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"You looked too cute cuddled up with each other, so I told him to let you sleep." She waved at Jamie and managed to get a half-hearted wave in return.

Michael opened the door and climbed out into the morning sun to stretch the protests from his body. The sandwich from the bag was very good and a sip of the coffee handed to him snapped him fully awake. Jamie accepted hers and settled against the car to wake up at a slower pace as the older people discussed their business.

"Amherst struck again last night. He called to let me know that he knew about Smith, and to slaughter a little girl over the phone for me."

"A little girl?" Marco had been through a lot with Angelica's death, and through that he had learned that his more caring side was no longer dead inside him.

"Yeah. He said he picked her and her brother up in Verona. We need to head there immediately to pick up his trail."

"There's a place in Milan we need to check out as well. Europol sent down a file from their investigations and has pinpointed a place there as the likely base he's staging his people out of. We were about to go there to set up a reconnaissance."

Michael nodded at Marco's plan. "It's not like we have the firepower to storm a place like that anyway. He's pulling out the stops now, Marco, and that means we're going to start seeing soldiers with guns instead of punks with a fetish. He said as much in our conversation."

Jamie tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash and stepped up beside Michael, feeling a bit more awake and ready for the day's activities.

"Why don't we take the recon of the place in Milan, Michael? Tracking down the trail of the two kids is just police work, something that Priscilla and Marco both are better at. My forte is observation and elimination, both of which are likely to be needed if there are soldiers around. To hunt a soldier, you need a soldier, simple as that."

Her eyes were frightening again, this time in their determination. If she'd held any feelings from what she had heard over the phone the previous night, she had kept them to herself for a specific purpose: that of empowerment.

"If the information doesn't pan out, we'll be that much further behind."

"If the information doesn't pan out, we're right where we are now. He isn't running, Michael- he's waiting. And while he waits, he continues killing. Even if it's just you and me against an army, hunting him actively is better than knowingly chasing his shadow."

He had to admit that she had a point. Michael's recent steps had been to track slowly closer on Amherst by following the trail of destruction, and even if the place in Milan didn't pay out, they were hunting ahead of him rather than following his tracks. Of course, having the benefit of seeing Michael's recent actions meant that Amherst could plan for the next one.

"Marco, I want you and Priscilla to go to Verona and check on the missing children angle. Find out what you can, but be extremely careful. Amherst expects me to go there to follow it up, so it may be that he has a trap set. I can't really think of any other reason he would tell me where he had been."

There was an understanding nod from the pair. They knew what they were dealing with and would make every effort to avoid falling into it.

"Jamie and I are going to Milan. With any luck we will hit on something and be able to plan an assault to finish it all."

"Be careful, Michael." Priscilla gave him a hug- a comforting gesture between close friends. She hugged Jamie even tighter, squeezing her playfully in the way she had become accustomed to in the months after Angelica's death. "You too, Jamie. Take care of him."

"I always have."

She waved to their car as it sped away and then joined Michael at the Jag's hood to go over the information.

"It seems pretty fresh. There's a couple of photos here of a small industrial business at the side of the warehouse- maybe a machine shop."

Jamie glanced through a stack of papers, looking for one she had seen before she had straightened them. "Here it is. It's a mixed business warehouse. Import-export and distribution, along with a truck repair facility." There was a satellite photo of the location along with a broader scale one. "Look here! Right next to a rail yard. In fact, it looks like they have a spur that slips right into the building."

"Hmm." She was right, Michael knew. He could not have asked for a better student. "If I had to move military hardware and other illegal goods on specific-but-open timeframe, that's how I would do it. Rail freight is checked less thoroughly than that sent by sea or air. Not to mention it is easy to hide illegal goods inside heavy equipment that is packed inside a freight car. Add to that the intermodal applications and you have a nice place to do business from. I think you hit right on it."

His praise made her smile and her smile brought one to his face in return.

"This is all assuming that Europol was right about the place, right?"

"And that we can come up with some way to survey without being noticed. And that we can plan, prepare for, and execute an assault in a manner that nets us the bad guys."

Her expression said all that he needed to hear. She was willing to take it on, in any conditions, and would do so without hesitation. As if to punctuate it, she went to the floor of the backseat and pulled out her stealth jumpsuit, the one she had just purchased because it "showed off her curves better".

"Come on. Lets get going or we'll never make it to Milan and you'll never get to see me wear this."

Michael packed up the papers and climbed into the car, deciding it would be best to get moving before she came up with something even more uncomfortable to threaten him with.

"I told you before that spies don't wear stuff like that."

"That's not what Tanya told me. She said she used to wear a skin-tight suit all of the time."

"Not when she was infiltrating." Damn. What did that woman tell her?

"Then when?" Jamie was beginning to enjoy making Michael uncomfortable.

He shook his head and turned onto the road out of town, wondering what else Jamie was going to decide to discuss on the way to Milan.

"None of your business."

The fact that they were agents of the Social Welfare Agency and that they were in an arguably hostile city, run by arguably hostile political and criminal powers, was not lost on Michael as they jumped off of the four-fifteen onto the highway that would take them further into Milan. Through careful maneuvering in the side streets, he was able to find the place they were looking for without actually passing alongside it- a hedge against the enemy lackeys knowing what his car looked like. He pulled slowly through the intersections so that Jamie could observe the location with her binoculars.

"See anything?"

"Yes. A large brick wall, some billboards, and some of the worst parking I've ever seen. Seriously, parking on the sidewalk is okay here?"

"I'm not sure, I never really considered it. I'm from a civilized country, remember?"

"Well, you might also consider us to be in a very conspicuous car. These are mostly apartment buildings and that is the most Fiats I've ever seen. This green Jag is going to get noticed."

He chose to ignore her commentary and focus on her observations instead. "Is that all you see?"

"Nope. There's a few Fords in there too." Her inability to contain her smile showed that she was simply playing off of him. "But on the bright side, it shouldn't be too hard to get an observation site and avoid being noticed by them."

"And it shouldn't be too hard to fire your rifle without someone noticing either."

If she caught the sarcasm in his voice, she didn't show it. "Still... I think we're going to have to take some time on this one. It's strange that they are in a populated part of the city. If they're going to do something untoward, you would think they would prefer privacy."

"We're less than two miles from agricultural lands. I'm sure this is private enough to do wicked things with a business as cover. Always remember to be wary of any man who keeps a pig farm."

"Pig farm?"

"Never mind. Lets find ourselves an office or apartment to rent."

Sure enough, there was an office for rent just up the busy street from the objective, and even had a clear view of the loading docks for the warehouse. Michael determined it would be better to work up a cover for this move, so he and Jamie put on their suits and toured the available offices as a web-developer and his assistant, something he actually had a business card already made up for. The story was that they needed a transitional space to work in while they awaited his promised office to be finished in a new-construction building.

The young woman who showed them the space was lively and excelled at her work, and more than once Jamie caught Michael staring at the woman in an unconscious attraction to her. They looked at their preferred office space a second time before finally voicing the opinion that the view of the street, and of the rising sun, would be the best choice. Michael paid for three months in cash, noting to Jamie after the woman left that cash began and ended conversations the same ways in every country.

It was dark by the time they returned to the office with the things they needed. The Jag was parked in a secure spot not far away and they had rented a van, something they needed to move in some basic office furniture. No one bothered them as they moved the furniture and equipment cases up to the sixth floor office, and after the door was closed, Jamie remarked that it seemed "just too damn easy".

"It's like that sometimes," was Michael's only response. If there was more to be said, he refused to give it freely.

The video gear was in place to observe the warehouse and they were both tired from the day's driving and work. Jamie went to the outer office and returned in her "stealth suit", a piece of clothing that looked familiar to him once he saw it because Tanya had, in fact, worn one on missions a few times.

It was a lightweight spandex and cotton composite that could be worn alone in cool to hot weather and still be comfortable, dried fast once wet while remaining warm and, most importantly, was silent. It fit the body like a glove and could be worn under almost anything. There were numerous pockets along the thighs, upper arms, chest, and even a sheath on each ankle. Each pocket had an elastic-strapped hook to close it, eliminating the noise of Velcro, metal snaps, and even plastic clips.

Jamie spun in place after she came back in, showing off her figure in a teasing way. To Michael, it seemed so long ago that she was stepping from the locker room in her new swimsuit, her face flush with embarrassment.

"What do you think? Isn't it cool?"

"You know that you're not going to look that good with those pockets stuffed with gear, right?"

"I know." She jumped and landed softy, like a cat, on the sleeping bag he had laid out for her next to his. "But I can enjoy this now, right?"

"Sure." He slipped into his sleeping bag and settled into his pillow. "Just don't ask me whether I think your thighs look fat or not after you load those pockets down. In fact, don't ask me any questions on your appearance at all. The last thing I need is for you to become neurotic on a mission after I screw up and say the wrong thing."

She curled up against him again, leaning over to speak softly into his ear. "So you're saying I'm fat now?"

He rolled over to face her and found her lips nearly touching his, just as she had planned. Her entire persona that day had been driven towards enticing him, but to what end? She knew that he felt that he had to keep some distance between them for his own sanity's sake. She also had feelings for the young man, Nicholas Ferrari. If she were serious about wanting to see him again, she wouldn't be as close to Michael as he now found her to be.

He tried to read her intentions in her eyes, but the blues whose hue he had been so specific about was now working against him in the near-darkness of the office.

"Jamie... What are your intentions?"

"To live." Her lips touched his and he nearly lost himself in their feel. She had closed her eyes to enjoy the kiss, so she didn't see the worried and confused look on his face, a look that he hid before the blues opened again. She pulled away and settled into her bed, extinguishing the moment just as quickly as it had flared up.

"I thought about it last night as I fell asleep. My heart was screaming out for me to love Nicholas, but somewhere inside me I knew it was wrong. No, not that it was wrong, but that it simply could not happen. He was a great guy. He was handsome, polite, charming, and yet vulnerable and impulsive. I felt myself drawn to him, especially because of those last two, and I couldn't understand why. And then, just as I drifted into sleep, it came to me. I had trouble remembering it this morning, but I finally got it."

She reached behind her and found his hand, and linked her fingers with his, squeezing gently so as to avoid crushing it in her bionic grip.

"I finally understood that the reason I felt so close to him, desired to be with him, was because he reminded me of you. Sure, maybe you're not polite and charming all of the time, and you're always impulsive. But when I watch you as you face your vulnerabilities I feel closer to you, as if I am discovering them with you, and that draws my heart to you."

"Jamie, stop this." He shut his eyes and willed the feeling of betraying Tanya away. "It hurts me when you're like this."

"Because you don't love me?"

"Because I don't know what to feel. She's still in my heart and I don't want to betray her."

Silence. It seemed to last forever and made it impossible to ignore, but she finally gave his hand another gentle squeeze and let go, curling back up with her pillow.

"Then I'll wait for you to figure it out. I know what you're going through, in a manner of speaking, so I can have a little patience."

As Michael closed his eyes and willed his brain to relax and sleep, he could not help but feel a bit of regret hovering over him. Was it regret that he was thinking about her, or was it regret that he could not decide?

"Good night, Michael."

"Good night."

If he had dreamt that night about Tanya, he might not have felt as bad.

The sun was at their backs and a warm breeze drifted in from the southwest making the early evening recon pleasant enough. With the blinding sun as their cover, they were examining their target from a building across the rail yard, making careful note of everything of value.

"The ventilation is localized so there's no way to set teargas effectively."

"Well, those have their uses as well. Nothing clears a building like an A/C unit that's pouring smoke into a building." Michael finished drawing the map of the location, noting that the entrances were more limited than he had expected. "Figure a dozen or more guards housed inside. Add in the workers and we're looking at a lot of guys with guns."

Her eyes never left the binoculars. "I'm not afraid. Maybe it's perilous, but a little peril never killed anyone."

He sagged against the brick and laughed heartily before sipping from his water bottle. "Do you know how dumb you just sounded? Peril is the very nature of death!"

"I was just making a joke."

"Then make ones that are funny ha-ha, not funny stupid. Life's too short to laugh at dumb things."

"You were the one laughing."

Her matter-of-fact tone made him laugh again. It felt strange to laugh like this after the nightmare of the previous night but the moment was right for it, and so he had seized it.

"Car arriving... A Land Rover with five occupants."

"ID?"

She adjusted the focus slightly and steadied her hands as the vehicle stopped at the warehouse door. Her breath caught, a clue to Michael of what she was going to say next.

"It's him."

Michael risked the spotting scope's taller profile in hopes of getting a certain confirmation of her sighting. The magnification brought him seemingly eye to eye with his nemesis, making his own heart skip slightly.

"Yeah."

"I can't see what's marked on that box. Can you?"

He adjust the magnification back to get a better grasp on what she was looking at, noticing a crimson red Pelican case with bold white lettering in the back of the vehicle.

"SXU-37?"

"What's that?"

"Something they shouldn't have. Technically I'm not even supposed to know about it, but I happened to be having lunch with a guy from the NSA test lab about five years ago when he was sketching the idea on a napkin. He was at Langley for a review of the latest cryptography gear and we got to talking about the Russian systems. They had started to use something similar to our encrypted field-radios and he had an idea on how to track them in spite of their burst-transmission design. It was only in his mind and in a summary at the time, but I remember him saying the prototype designation was going to be that."

"So what does it do? Track our transmissions to the source?"

Michael winced, thinking about what else the man had said with his big mouth. "Yes, but if I had to guess, I'd say that it probably can decode them as well, even if they're not in real-time. We're not even safe using our cell-phones now."

"Are we still go for tonight?" The delay before her question showed that she had considered the situation and its consequences.

"Yes. We can't wait. If he's here then it means that something is going to be happening."

"Okay then." Jamie pulled back from the ledge and packed her binoculars away. "We should get moving if I'm going to make that entrance."

"We've got a little time, Jamie. How about dinner? We can't go in fighting on an empty stomach."

Her smile lit up his heart, framed as it was by the light of the setting sun. The orange hue gave color to her pale complexion and made her feel as real as she had ever been.

"Sounds good."

They found a casual restaurant some distance away from their target and took their time, enjoying casual conversation and the long pauses that come with preparing one's self for serious work. Somehow they managed to avoid making it feel as if they were eating a last meal or saying goodbye and for that Michael was grateful. If there was one thing he had taken a disliking to it was dramatically long goodbyes.

Darkness was setting in when they arrived back at the office, quieting their discussions to near silence as they made ready to make war on an impossible scale. There was no help coming, that much was made clear when Michael had told Lorenzo of his plans. There was simply no one available to help. Even Priscilla and Marco had been recalled for the agency's operation, as had Michael and Jamie, but Michael wasn't about to lose this chance. Amherst was here in his sights and he was not going to let him go.

"I wish I had my rifle at that moment... I could have ended this." Jamie had been thinking along the same lines, it seemed.

"Hmm."

"Can you help me with my suit? I don't want to rip my radio wire out as I pull it on." A belt with her radio pack was the only thing she was wearing aside from her tank top and underwear, a key item she had figured out on her own. Wearing the pack and the wire outside of the suit promotes snags and damage.

He stepped behind her and helped her pull it up and onto her arms and shoulders, taking care to keep the wire straight up to the collar.

"Thanks." She turned and flashed a smile at him as she started to zip up the front.

Michael saw Tanya again in Jamie's smile. It was so real to him- as real as it had been years before when he had been in the same position, helping her suit up before her mission. His arms wrapped around her and stopped her hands, holding them tightly as he leaned his head next to hers and kissed her cheek.

"Michael what-?"

"Shhh... I'm sorry."

Her body softened from its startled state and she blushed slightly at his intimacy. "Sorry? What for?"

"For not being able to let go. For making you put up with my selfish desires."

If Jamie held any confusion on his meaning she never showed it. She freed a hand and gently pulled his head tighter to her. "I don't mind."

He pulled away and she finished zipping the suit, then sat down to pull on her boots. Michael watched her as she picked up equipment off of the table and carefully considered whether she would need it and where it should go. By the time she had finished, Michael was impressed by how well she had taken to what he had instructed her in.

"Are you ready?"

She stood and stepped to the window to peer out at the target, wishing once more that things would go smoothly. She could see the guards at the gate were in some state of readiness, further proof that something was happening tonight.

"I'm a little scared."

"You'll be fine, Jamie. You've got all you need now, and there isn't much more I can teach you." He smiled for her, helping her to stay strong. "Besides, I'll be along soon after."

"Okay." Jamie pulled on her jacket and a pair of dark pants, her disguise to cover the suit she wore. She stopped on her way out the door though, pausing to look back with a girlish smile. "By the way... Why do they make these suits skin-tight? It can't just be to look good in or to cut down on noise."

"You'll find out before the night's over. You're bound to run into the situation at some point."

"Riiiiiight."

"Radios on but no transmissions unless it's urgent."

Jamie waved as the door closed behind her and Michael was suddenly alone. He dreaded sending her out her own but his plan required her to move faster than he ever could, not to mention do some things only a cyborg could manage. His own part of the plan was going to be tough and the thought of that reminded him to start preparing for the worst.

Chapter 42: Answers...

Five minutes... An eternity to someone who was waiting to act. It seemed even longer when someone as action-oriented as Jamie kept looking at her watch, waiting for the sounds of the train she had to board. Her hands were sweating profusely as she maintained a firm grip on the only handhold the bridge's side provided, her feet, or rather her toes, perched on a ledge mere inches deep.

Her mind turned to her next moves and how important the timing needed to be on each step, and how there could be no mistakes. There would, of course, be unexpected circumstances, but she had to react to them the right way every time, or it would all be over. It was this fear above all that kept her hands gripping the rough stone to stay upright.

A horn sounded in the distance and Jamie chanced a glance over her shoulder at the signal lights, watching the light for her train turn green. It was time. Brakes hissed as the train slowed down to enter the yard and change sidings, the vibration of it noticeable even through the thick stone of the bridge.

Jamie looked down at the rails and watched the locomotive rush by beneath her, mere feet away as the pantograph sparked across the lines it was changing over. She counted the cars in a whispered voice and used it to work herself up to the task- a bit of self-encouragement that lasted up until the moment came and she pushed off of the bridge, spinning ninety degrees and slipping between the high-voltage lines that ran above the track. For a moment she thought she could feel the aura or E-M field of the three-thousand volts as she slipped past, but she landed on top of the boxcar unscathed and uncooked, grasping the spars in the roof to keep from sliding off. There was an access hatch on the corner, unlocked even, and she crawled to it, ever mindful of the wires above, and slipped inside.

It was the car she wanted, just as planned. Inside were a dozen large machines, all covered with tarps, and which Jamie knew were only shells for the contraband stored inside them. She flipped on her light and crawled under a tarp, pulling open an inspection plate of the machine and reaching inside. Her hand found something soft and pulled it out, having a pretty good of idea of what the plastic bag of hard, crystal-like rocks was.

She put the bag back and closed the cover, and then moved on to the next machine. There was a distinct smell under the tarp that she recognized as cosmoline, the source being multiple crates of Soviet era weapons that were housed in the bottom end of the machine.

The next one held various electronics, all stolen of course, and mostly restricted on where they are supposed to be exported. GPS jammers, American night-vision units, the list went on.

And so it went as she quickly gathered an inventory of the items, until the last shipment made her pause. Then entire crate was filled with pirate-production music CDs.

"Aerosmith, Guns N Roses, The Who, The Beatles, Ted Nugent, The 'Stones..." And that was just a glance. The crate was worth a lot of money.

"Drugs, guns, rock and roll... Hell, they're more American than I am." She could only wonder why they were moving what they were, but the train was slowing to drop off the car she was in and she had to get into the place she needed to hide.

The part of the yard the train was passing through was poorly lit and with the trees and noise wall as a dark backdrop, Jamie was nearly invisible as she climbed out of the roof hatch and dropped to the ground, the sound of the brakes and couplers covering her landing from the ears of the yardman and conductor on the other side. The train came to a stop, allowing her to sneak under the car and fasten herself to the bottom with a clip on her belt, trusting in the darkness to keep her hidden safely.

The yardman decoupled the car and motioned for a yard locomotive to move up and push it into its spur, the one leading inside the warehouse. The doors were opened and the car moved slowly into the recessed dock, the concrete level with the freight door of the boxcar and high enough that Jamie was hidden from view. There were numerous voices, however, and leaning her head back allowed her to make out the butt of a rifle that was rested on the concrete floor. Several pairs of black boots represented the guards that were overseeing the delivery's security.

The car finally came to a stop in the bay and the yard loco exited, the doors to the warehouse closed and secured before the boxcar was opened. Jamie could feel the forklift rolling into the car to offload the machines, the wood slats flexing under the weight and shaking dust from the cracks right onto her face. The particles stung her eyes and tickled her nose, and she had to start into a breathing cadence to suppress the impending sneeze. The guards were right above her on the dock and the forklift was at the far end of the floor, making for just enough quiet for any sneeze to heard and give her away.

The wait was excruciating, but she held on until the lift returned and then sneezed as it bumped loudly over the metal dock plate, effectively masked by the noise.

As time passed, Jamie realized how Michael had developed such patience. She could only hold and wait until she had an opening to move, and suffer until that moment.

" '_There is no plan that survives contact with the enemy'. If there is one thing you keep from my pearls of wisdom, Michael, it is that."_

Michael replayed Tanya's words in his head; sobering, if somewhat forgotten, words from experience to neophyte.

"_I thought that was Helmuth von Moltke."_

The moment of levity had broken up a tense period in his training in Prague. Though seemingly angry at the time, Tanya had understood the need for a less-strict atmosphere between them and things had quickly become less tense in training.

It was this relaxed atmosphere that gave him the basis for Jamie's training since that revelation almost six months earlier on the range. It was forgotten somehow in his desire to teach her, but had ultimately made a difference.

"Thank you, Tanya..." His whispered words broke the monotony of silence as he waited in the shadows of an alley, his trench coat concealing a suppressed M-4 carbine that was slung from his neck. A check of his watch coincided with the sound of the arriving train, and both showed him that the countdown had started. Jamie was already in motion, working her way to her target, ready to improvise on a moment's notice.

Amazingly, Michael was not worried about her. His mind was firmly locked on his own role and how he was going to try to pull it off. It was daunting, having to draw the attention of the larger part of the guards, including the elites that Amherst had surrounding him. It was crazy, and suicidal. But even as he thought about it, a part of Michael's mind relished the challenge and absolute risk the move represented.

With all risk, however, there is the possibility of failure, and Michael did not want to be hampered by the possibility of regrets. To that end, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number, his thumb pausing over the send key as he debated whether to do it or not. It really did come down to his fear of regret and the phone was ringing before he realized his thumb had moved.

"'_Allo?_"

"It's me, Emmy. Are you safe?"

"_Yes, Michael. We're almost ready for our next move to secure things._"

"That's good to hear. Listen..." He paused, fighting for the right way to say it. "I've caught up with him and it's going to happen tonight. I wanted you to know, just in case."

A long pause came from the other end of the line, and he was about to check his phone to make sure the call hadn't been dropped when she finally found the words. "_Don't die, Michael. I don't think I could take mourning for you as well_."

He thought he heard something in her words, perhaps a bit more than friendly concern. Then again, they had never had anything more than a well oiled work relationship between them. "Emmy, I'll buy you dinner when I'm finished here."

"_I'll hold you to that. Be careful_."

"Ciao."

Emmy knew him well enough to keep things short and to the point, so as not to spoil his focus any more than necessary. That focus made him check his watch again only to find that more time had passed than he had thought, and set the plan in motion at last. His trench coat was shrugged off and the rifle slipped up into line, the Aimpoint CompM4S sight centering on the guard furthest away from the gate.

The muted pop of the sub-sonic round firing was loud in the narrow confines of the alleyway, but the lack of flash bouncing off of the walls allowed Michael to engage the second guard before he had a chance to turn around to investigate the thump of his colleague hitting the ground. The guard jerked backwards out of the light from the overhead lamp, making Michael's attack all but impossible to be noticed by innocents passing by.

He quickly slipped his coat back on and stepped out onto the sidewalk, moving up the hill a dozen meters before crossing the street and making his way back to the gate. The few passersby had not noticed anything amiss and Michael hardly paused as he pulled the gate open and passed through, slipping a chain and padlock on it after he closed it. It was a four-meter security fence, topped with razor wire, and short of cutting the lock and chain; no one was passing through it that night without his key... And they'd have to take it from his cold, dead hands.

The drive went downhill, almost to the level of the rail yard, and turned a little to the right, the trees obscuring him from the sight of the guards patrolling the outside of the warehouse. Michael paused in a shadow to toss off his coat and slip his earpiece in, keying his radio.

"Two."

The single word was unintelligible to outsiders even if they had a device to unscramble the radios' signal. Their initial moves were choreographed and numbered in stages that they would use as code phrases. Everything else was ad-lib and trusting in each other's moves and understanding of tactics.

A double-click was the only response from Jamie's radio, indicating that she was ready and was standing by. Michael crept forward in the shadows, hunched over behind his sights and treading silently towards the vehicles parked in front of the building, moving carefully and only when the guards were looking away. In only a few minutes he was alongside a box truck, no more than thirty feet from the guards and checking out his surroundings with a practiced eye. Stealth was desired but not entirely necessary. In fact, he was tempted to make a little noise to get the ball rolling and allow Jamie to work her magic.

Tempting, but not tactically sound. It was his eagerness to end this war of fate that was trying desperately to make him screw up. Any errors would be fatal to Jamie and his self, and could not be allowed due to simple lack of judgment. To help with that he did as he had taught her, taking a silent deep breath and exhaling it slowly as he counted in his head, relaxing slightly as the fog in his brain lifted and let his senses go back to working together.

The guards had turned and moved closer to the truck, chatting calmly about what sounded like sports. They had unknowingly entered a dangerous zone, Michael reflected. As he gently slung his rifle and slipped his knife from his belt, the lessons hammered into him from day one at The Farm came back to him, making him smile softly.

Twenty-one feet... One and-a-half seconds. An assailant armed with an edged weapon can cover twenty-one feet in the time it takes an officer to identify them, draw down, and place two rounds to the chest. Thus it was important to keep the draw time down below the average of one-point-five. Michael at one time had it down to less than a second, but that was on the receiving end and knowing the threat direction.

The men before him had their guns slung loosely across their chests, each with a hand on the grip, ready to fire in maybe two seconds at most. Their more ready state was offset by the element of surprise. It was this that gave Michael hope for a silent attack. He flipped the knife around and held it blade-down, securing the end of the handle under his thumb in anticipation for the moves he planned on unleashing.

The guards had turned and took two steps back towards the other end of the dock, allowing Michael to slip around the end of the truck and into the light, slowly at first, but quickly dashing as hard as he could the twenty feet, tossing all efforts at stealth to the wind. He counted his steps, measuring them against his running stride and figuring he had made the average strike time.

The knife swung upwards slicing the left-most guard across is right rotator cuff and deltoid muscles, making his gun arm nearly useless, and stopping next to his head before swinging down point first into the chest of the right guard, who had begun to turn in response to the movement between them.

Michael's left hand balled into a fist and slammed the left guard in the ear in the same motion, knocking him off balance and stunning while his right hand pulled the knife out of the other guard's chest and stabbed the blade sideways between his ribs twice more, finally pushing down on the handle to lever the embedded tip upwards inside the chest cavity, carving a huge swath of destruction through the lung and pulmonary artery, ensuring the man's eventual death. Michael never paused, however, grabbing the man by the throat and pulling his feet from under him, knocking him unconscious on the pavement with a hard drop.

The other man was still screaming from the pain of his slashed shoulder and the ringing in his ear, so he barely had time to react as Michael swung the freed knife around and drove it into his chest with both hands, stabbing a massive wound in his right lung and cutting the Superior Vena cava. His scream was silenced by a flick of the knife across his throat, the burbling gush of air from the lung being the last sound heard before the silence of the night took over once again.

Less than ten seconds... Two lives had been shuffled from the mortal coil in less time than it took to pour his coffee, and somewhere in the back of his mind Michael Christiansen was proud of that fact. It was the culmination of everything he had trained physically and mentally for, and there was simply no other way to receive it at that moment.

The night was still young, however, and there would be more bodies soon enough.

"Three," he said into his radio, getting the two clicks in response.

It was going to be a long night.

Jamie could barely hear the singular scream from outside the warehouse, cut off after only a few seconds by what was undoubtedly Michael's knife. There was no sign from the guards that they had heard what she had, and she could only reason that it was because of her better ears and total focus on the many sounds she could discern.

Her closed eyes clamped tighter as she strained to hear the guards that had split up and begun walking their rounds, her mind working hard to track the two sounds on each side of her head as they became quieter. A door opened and one pair of boots disappeared entirely, just as the other pair turned with a distinct swishing sound of rubber on gritty concrete, and began walking back towards the boxcar.

"_Three."_

Michael's voice indicated the next phase. Things were going to get exciting.

The forklift was returning, arriving just as the guard stepped to the ledge, tossing a cigarette to the floor beside Jamie. She pulled up and unclipped herself from the car, dropping into the shadows as the lift started to move into the car. The guard was facing away and Jamie poked her head up to scout the surroundings, seeing no one else. The lift shifted inside the car, dragging a pallet with a screeching sound, giving Jamie a chance to make her move.

Her hands clamped onto the man's ankles and jerked his legs from under him, laying him flat on his face onto the concrete. Before he could react, Jamie's knife was buried in the back of his skull, severing his spine and killing him almost instantly. By the time the forklift was back at the door, the guard was dragged into the relative invisibility of the undercarriage, tucked away for some cop to find the next morning, well after it was all over.

The forklift left for the other end of the warehouse and Jamie slipped onto the dock, crossing to the wall and following it down the aisle to the door that the other guard had gone into, labeled _personale_. She listened through it for a long several seconds before she ducked back against the wall, preparing to ambush the person she had heard on the other side.

The door opened inward, but she had noticed the opening direction and had resolved her attack accordingly, striking the guard as he stepped out, still drying his hands with a paper towel, effectively disarmed. Her palm-strike caught his head squarely on the side and smashed it into the steel doorframe, cracking his skull and knocking him out. Jamie's other arm caught the falling body and dragged him inside the door again, a scant moment before the forklift turned around.

There were signs in the break room that they were dealing with a considerable number of people. Coats and packs were piled against the lockers and in the corners of the room. A large number of cigarette and cigar butts were in the ashtrays and the vending machine was empty of all but the diet soda. A quick dig through the contents of a few packs showed them to belong to paramilitary types. Everything was neat and orderly, but clustered in a way so as to take up the least amount of space so they could cram more in.

"Thirty plus... We're a little over our heads."

Michael's plan was for twenty or so guards.

"_I'm inside._"

"Copy that. I read thirty plus, minus two."

There was a noticeable hesitation, a sign that he was actually reconsidering. After a few moments, he came back, his voice determined.

"_We're still go. Buy us some insurance._"

"I copy. I'm going to look around some."

"_Just don't forget why we're here._"

A chill from the air conditioner breezed across her skin and the smell of the cigarettes flashed her mind back to Paris, her skin feeling the knife once again.

"That's not likely."

"_Then continue with three. Out._"

Jamie dug a few bottles of cleaner from under the sink. The typical gallon of bleach was there, as was a large bottle of lemon-scented ammonia. A quick search located several medium plastic storage tubs with lids. Moving fast, Jamie filled three of the tubs with ammonia and poked holes in the lids before closing them. Two tubs of bleach were left sealed and all were wrapped in a heavy plastic bag and closed tightly before being placed in the microwave. A quick fiddling with the timer made sure things would happen a little later and a press of the start button sealed the deal.

Jamie locked the body inside the restroom, rigging a grenade she found in a bag to go off when the door was forced. The gas trap in the microwave was going to be interesting to watch, but she had to be elsewhere. Explosions and gaseous clouds were but amusements for the shallow minded. The real business was going to be happening elsewhere in the building and she had to be there before Michael lit things off.

She followed the back stairway up into the office section, creeping quietly on the aging carpet, her suppressed pistol in her right hand, the knife in her left. Two men were in a security office, their attention on the television to the right of the main monitors, and a soccer game distracting them from the many camera images. Their laziness had allowed her to slip past three cameras and proved that Fate was on her side tonight. Two shots from the Walther ensured they would continue helping her. As the bodies slowly slumped forward, Jamie turned off the cameras and ripped the controller's wires out, then disabled the remaining hardware with carefully places shots. A quick magazine change was her last act before continuing down the hall, her mind focusing on the sounds and listening for any threat.

A right turn into another hall brought her face to face with a man in urban camouflage, his submachine gun slung loosely at his side. His surprise at the intruder was short lived, though, as Jamie slammed her right fist into his stomach, the powerful blow doubling him over. Her left hand grabbed the SMG and twisted the sling, jerking it hard and crushing the man's throat as her right hand slid up the leads and tightened the cinching point against flesh.

His hands came up to force her hands to loosen, but Jamie's strength was more than he could hope to fight against. Her arm was locked tight, a position the guard's strongest hits against her elbow could not change, until the focus of his eyes on hers drifted away, the last choking gasps coming as his body sagged to the floor.

Jamie held the cinch for a full minute after she felt the life leave the body. Her wrist flicked, unwrapping the sling from the body, and she checked the weapon to make sure it was ready. She was probably going to need it soon. It was only a matter of time before someone stumbled on a corpse and started following them to find her.

Michael found the door Jamie had unlocked in her wanderings, slipping inside the office section and locking it again. His task was simple: to find Amherst and either kill him or drive him into Jamie's sights. He had a feeling, though, that something was amiss. It was just a feeling, but given the back and forth they'd had in trying to catch each other, it might have simply been his own expectations frustrating him. Things had been going wrong, so it _must_ be true this time.

"Stupid thinking... Deal with what comes."

The whispered thought helped calm him, letting his mind focus on his field-craft, stepping silently and checking his corners as he made his way to the end of the building. The blueprints said the next area was a two level storage area, constructed heavier than one would expect a run-of-the-mill company to do. It reminded him of something he'd seen before, the realization hitting him only after he had stepped through the door and noticed the kinds of crates stashed within in their sorted stacks.

Ammunition. Lots of it, and plenty of guns to fire them.

The blueprints had shown walls similar to the design of storage bunkers, and given the number of stacks, Amherst was in town to bring off a major sale or purchase of weapons. A careful dash between stack shadows brought him next to a stack of Semtex crates, all with similar lot numbers to those the agency had been coming across. The one next to it was the more temperamental high explosives: TNT and ANNM in sealed containers.

Michael wasn't certain why they had ammonium nitrate/nitro-methane mixed and in sealed containers, but he knew it wasn't the smartest idea. It was touchy stuff, much more so than ANFO, and only a hard enough impact or concussion was needed to set it off. Live, unstable explosives in a storage area full of ammunition were a recipe for disaster.

He moved in the shadows of the wall to another stack, stopping there to wait. Michael's mind raced to process all of the sounds he was hearing, his breath catching as the sound of Amherst's voice approached the doorway on the second level above and across from him. The man was talking with a high-ranking lackey; authoritative but relaxed, as if there wasn't a care in the world aside from business.

Of course not, Michael thought. There's no way two people could slice their way inside his hideout and hunt him down. Jamie was on her way and he already had eyes on target. Michael listened to the conversation echo across the distance as his hands slowly started to bring his rifle up, moving less than an inch per second in an effort to avoid spooking the game. He was nearly invisible in the shadows, but any sudden movement could spoil it.

"_No, I want everything ready when the buyer gets here. We'll turn the facility over to him, pull out, and then burn it down. Everything gets closed out tonight, and that includes the loose ends. Southeast Asia sounds like a fine place to set up a new shop_."

The sights were almost up into firing line, but Amherst's words froze Michael solid. The man was really insane. He was going to blow the whole place up after taking the money. It was almost cartoonish in design.

Amherst started to walk back through the doorway, spoiling Michael's chance to kill him quickly, but then stopped, freezing in his tracks as if he could feel the cold hand of death staring at him through the scope. He turned slowly and peered into the darkness beyond the railing, his eyes scanning the depths in order to find what his instincts were telling him were there. The only thing Michael could do was freeze in place, scarcely breathing as the eyes passed over him three times, pausing for a moment to look straight at him before continuing to the next patch of space.

Amherst shook off the feeling and passed back out of sight, barking orders at someone, and Michael started breathing again. Amherst was expecting a buyer, which meant that Michael's plan had them inside too early. Things were about to go very bad again.

He tapped six times on the radio transmitter, the danger signal that would tell Jamie to stop everything and begin working on a way out... Only there was no response. She was supposed to key back three times or otherwise acknowledge her receiving it.

"Jamie?"

It was time to start thinking about leaving, and chances were pretty good that he would bump into her on the way. He crossed between stacks again, crouching for a full minute in the shadow of the high explosives. There was only one stack between him and the door now and he took two steps out into the gap.

"MICHAEL!"

Jamie was there in the doorway, her eyes locked on something above and behind him, her lips twisted between panic and anger. She dove behind the stack he was heading for just as the lights came up to chase the safety of the shadows away in an instant. He was caught with his pants down, safety two feet behind and twenty feet ahead of him, both of which might as well have been a mile.

"Michael Christiansen... You never learn, do you?"

Michael slowly turned to see what Jamie's owl-like eyes had seen from the doorway; the bulk of Ian Amherst's guards on the catwalks and warehouse floor, all aiming weapons at him. Amherst himself was smirking from the catwalk by the door he had stepped into.

"Finally...We meet face to face. I can't say that I'm sorry we're at this point. Your friend there ruined my surprise but I can hardly be upset about that. I have you where I want you and that's that."

Michael eyed the guns on him, knowing they were accurate enough to hit him at that range, and wondering why Amherst was going to wait until he was at the door before firing. The answer was at his feet in the crates of explosives that were primed and ready to go off at a thump's notice. He could now afford to play things up a bit.

"You have me _here_, Ian. You don't have me where you want me, otherwise your men would have fired by now." He caught a questioning look from Jamie through the corner of his eye and nodded to the crates beside him in order to help her along. "It's pretty risky leaving stuff like this lying around."

"Yes, well I wasn't expecting an extra complication."

"I'm everywhere, Ian. I'm going to hunt you until your dying breath." He tensed to move out of the open at the first sign of an opening.

"That'll be hard to do if you're dead before me."

Jamie popped her arms up and sprayed a burst from her submachine gun at Amherst, a moment Michael used to duck back behind the crates of explosives. It was enough, and Michael watched helplessly as several guns sprayed the relatively harmless crates of guns that she was hiding behind. Amherst was quick to stop the shooting before a stray round ricocheted and hit the explosives.

"I'm not dead yet! And you're a fool if you think I'm going to make it easy for you."

A lackey spoke with Amherst and from between the crates Michael could see a flash of anger in his eyes, just before the controlled personality took over again.

"It seems you've been working faster and harder than I anticipated. My client just called to cancel our meeting, stating that the locked gate and dead guards were a deal-breaker." There was an audible sigh from the catwalk; enough of one that Michael chanced popping his head around the corner of the crate. "You've cost me a considerable amount of money on this one, Christiansen."

"I'm sure your buyer will thank me properly once I tell them how you planned to butcher them with a convenient fire and explosion." Michael pointed to the door that Jamie had come in, indicating that she should cover it. His mind had already thought ahead of Amherst to a point and was quickly trying to think up an escape plan.

Jamie leaned out a bit and spotted two gunmen in the hallway, armed and ready to cut them in half with machine gun fire if they tried to get out that way. Things had once again gone very awry, and it was only the calm and collected aura that Michael was projecting that kept her from making a panicky move. Michael had to have a way out, right?

Michael couldn't think of anything. He tracked the few possibilities in his head and played them out to their expected conclusions only to find that there really wasn't any way to survive it. It couldn't be, though. His instincts were telling him there was a way out. Then again, maybe it was just his natural expectation after all of the years of luck he'd had. Maybe his luck had finally run out.

"I'll be honest, Ian... I think you got me on this one. Like an idiot, I walked right into it. Hiding next to high explosives... What was I thinking?" Michael reached a hand into his pocket, slipping a concussion grenade from it and pulling the pin. A glance at Jamie found her watching him with wide eyes, not believing what she was hearing or seeing. He could only shrug in defeat, sealing his plan with a wink at her. They were going to end Amherst the hard way.

"You sound ready to surrender to your fate. That's not very characteristic of you."

"Maybe it sounds that way..." Michael stood and stepped into view, the grenade gently clenched in his right hand, right next to the explosives. "But though it's a bit of a shock to the system, I can accept my fate so long as I make sure you die with me."

That drew a frown from the man, and a few of the rifles wavered, showing just how unhappy the idea of being blown to pieces was.

"But before we die, I want to know why you're as fucked up as you are. What made a solid member of the Queen's Special Air Service suddenly lose his marbles and start cutting up children for fun and profit? What trick of Fate warped your mind?"

The question seemed to drive Amherst into a seething rage, his fists slamming down onto the railing of the catwalk, rattling the joints all along the structure.

"It wasn't Fate that mad me this way: It was you."

"Me?" Michael wasn't prepared for that. Up until the whole thing had started, he had never seen Amherst.

"Yes, you and the rest of you fucking Americans. Your dumb-ass President chose to invade Saddam's personal sandbox and what do you get? A protracted war that you have to drag your NATO allies into. So I suddenly find myself in a hellhole of heat and sand, running escort for some UN inspectors. Everything is going fine up until some stupid American pilot noses his thunderbolt over and strafes our convoy. My men and the inspectors are dead around me, and I'm bleeding from leg and chest wounds... and all I hear is the laughter of the pilot over the radio, thinking he had killed some rag heads."

Michael thought about the file he had read on Amherst. The details of the method of injury had been left out but the results weren't. 'Numerous wounds to the chest, legs, and groin' from the shrapnel of the vehicle in front of his. It didn't take much to figure the rest out.

"You're pissed off because you got your balls shot off!" Michael's voice was incredulous, not so much at the injury, but that it could cause such a change in the man before him.

"And I didn't even get the pleasure of seeing the pilot punished for his error. That kind of thing drives a man slowly insane, so I took up a hobby to try to keep my sanity. Oh, how little people understand my art."

Michael looked at Jamie and saw a look that spoke volumes of what she thought. A petty man with grievances decides to take things out on the weakest among us. If he didn't have such a dangerous enthusiasm for it, it might be worth pitying him.

"Well... I'm not much for politics, so I just have to say that I think you're off the deep end. Killing people the way you do just because you're a casualty of a war? I can't really say that I don't sympathize with the injury, but you went way the hell into left field after that." It wasn't the answer Michael was expecting, but it was something. It also said that the man was truly a lost cause.

"That's your opinion, Christiansen. Others find my art worthy of a god."

There was a sound from the hallway behind him, but Michael ignored it, diving deep for the courage he needed to end this insane game of cat and mouse.

"You're not a god. You're not even a man anymore. You're just a plague among many in humanity, and I'm your cure. God's going to owe me some Brownie points for this one... So here we go."

Michael's hand tilted and relaxed, the spoon of the grenade flipping out and pushing it from his palm into the air, falling in slow motion as everyone's breath caught in their throat.

Jamie stared at him, her mind screaming for her to do something, her soul accepting her fate, and her body frozen stiff in shock, entirely unable to move. Worst of all, Michael was smiling defiantly; his eyes locked onto Ian Amherst's and proclaiming the final victory in the war that had been raging since that seemingly endless night in Paris.

The gunmen arrayed along the catwalks flinched, waiting for death to claim them, and perhaps even feeling foolish as to having allowed someone as insane as Amherst to lead them to this point. The faces froze in numerous different looks as final thoughts flashed through their heads.

Michael's eyes observed it all, and that was why he was smiling. He was leading a crowd of fools into Hell by wielding the power of life and death over them. Maybe this was why Amherst was the way he was.

Maybe he was just as insane.

The grenade bounced twice on the concrete and rolled halfway over to rest against the crate of explosives. The game was over.


	21. Chapter 43

Chapter 43: The Fat Lady Always Sings Wagner

Jamie's brain counted silently, automatically, even as her body hesitated. When she hit 'two', her fear released its freezing hold over her body and she moved, spraying rounds at the men on the catwalks, striking a few and forcing the rest to recoil further in fear. In the same motion, she lunged the distance to Michael and grabbed his arm, slinging him into the hallway and spraying bullets blindly with her right arm to cover their retreat. The guards were no where to be found now, but an acrid cloud had formed at the end of the hallway, a hallway that had a door opening into the break room that Jamie had remotely bombed.

Michael was still stunned, but Jamie wasn't sure whether it was from the moments leading up to this or her tossing him about. She grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards the gas.

"Hold your breath, Michael! It's Chlorine gas." She closed her eyes tightly and led him through the door into the break room, trusting in her memory to guide her correctly through the tables and chairs. She stumbled over a body, a guard, but maintained her balance, feeling Michael trip and hit the floor behind her. Jamie dragged him to his feet and kept moving, knowing that she was going to run out of air soon. Michel had taken a breath of the gas and was choking as it seared his lungs, but the door was finally in her hands and she kicked it out of the frame, the booming crash echoing across the deserted loading dock.

He had tears in his eyes, she could see, and his coughing sounded painful, but they were both still alive. Michael had bluffed his way out of a bad situation again, this time with a dummy grenade. Somehow he managed to stay ahead of Amherst.

"We..." Michael coughed and spit, the taste of bleach horrid in his mouth. "We need to...move."

"Can you walk?"

"Walk yes... Run, probably not."

"Okay. I think I know a way out." Jamie swapped the magazine in her gun, briefly checking to make sure it was full. She had to take command for the time being and lead Michael to safety. "Follow me."

Jamie dropped onto the rails and put her shoulder to the boxcar-sized door, feeling it flex a ways before springing back. The size and leverage of the door was too great for her to overcome but she knew of something that would work. She handed off her rifle to Michael and ran to the back of the boxcar, climbing up the ladder to spin the handbrake wheel, then jumping back down to where it was resting against the dock's bumper.

"Jamie, what are you doing?"

"Light exercise. Keep me covered."

A shot rang out from down the dock and Michael returned fire, pinning the guards in the doorway for the time being. He kept an eye on Jamie as she wedged herself between the dock and the boxcar, pushing hard against both in order to start it moving.

"Hngh... Come on, damn it!"

The car started to inch forward on the rails, the lack of weight inside the now-empty car the only reason it was able to move it at all. Another burst of strength from her powerful legs helped it along further and she dropped to the ground, planting her toes into each rail tie as she continued to shove the car towards the door. Her face was beet red and dripping sweat from her exertion, but the payoff was the door ripping open as the several tons of railcar smashed into it, shattering the locks and bending the hinges.

Michael laid down a stream of covering fire and followed Jamie out of the gap, moving as quickly as they could into the busy freight yard. The lights indicated trains approaching from both ends of the yard, so Jamie led Michael across the spurs, mindful of his slower pace but rushing him as much as possible.

The guards were outside the building now and shots sounded, bullets whizzing past them. Michael slowed and spun long enough to spray a burst back at the pursuers, his only thought being to give them a bit more time to escape while Jamie focused on improvising a plan.

"Come on!"

A train was approaching from the left, nearside rail, it's transit through the yard cleared already on the switches. Another train was approaching from the right on the far set of rails. Both were slowed considerably and horns sounded as Jamie stepped into the light from the locomotive, motioning Michael to hurry.

Michael's lungs ached from the exertion and the irritation from the gas but he managed to jump the track in time, the locomotive passing behind him only seven seconds later, the train obscuring them from the view of Amherst's men.

"Now what?"

Jamie looked around at the two trains that surrounded them, finally deciding to admit the truth. "I haven't thought that out yet."

"Well, think fast, because you're quickly running out of train."

Her eyes sparkled when she looked at him, the only moment of levity among the tense ones.

"That one."

Jamie pulled him along roughly, dashing to the other train and jumping aboard, pulling Michael off of his feet and onto the step of the boxcar. Darkness quickly covered them as the train exited the yard and they could see Amherst's men attempting to find them. Even if they had considered the train, it was too late to stop them.

"We're safe."

"No, Jamie. We're just right back where we started. In fact, we're now on the run."

The light from a crossing played across his face and showed her his level of concern for their situation. She started running the situation through her mind and found exactly the thing he was thinking about- the fact that they had to go back to the office to get their gear, and then make their way to the car, all of which had to happen after they get off the train.

The train approached a bend in the track and slowed for it, allowing the pair to hop off and start their forced march back into central Milan. A hop of a fence and slide down an embankment brought them out onto a major intersection, complete with a waiting taxi. A glance at each other found a shared thought: the fact that all of their gear was back in the office and that if they had any hope of escape or turning things around, they had to go back.

The odds of running into Amherst and his men were considerably higher now, though, and Jamie and Michael didn't exactly blend in at the moment. That belief was reinforced by the driver's eyes being locked on Jamie's lithe form, her curves enticingly wrapped in her spandex suit, causing two near-misses with other cars in as many minutes.

Michael glanced at Jamie, searching for an indication that she was bothered by the attention, but her eyes were closed and head down, resting and thinking in the down time they were now blessed with. Another swerve, more violent than the last, pushed Michael past his own tolerance, however.

"Hey, driver... I'm paying you to drive. Keep your eyes on the road unless you want me to remove them for you."

The eyes locked forward and didn't return, and Michael settled back to rest for the remaining several minutes of the ride.

"Hmm," Jamie smiled, her eyes still closed. "You're on-edge."

"Very perceptive. What part of being taunted, shot at, gassed, and nearly incinerated do you think it was that made me this way?"

"None of it. Things didn't go to plan and that's why you're upset." Her blue eyes opened and looked into his, showing her understanding of his frustration. The only problem was that she was wrong.

"In a way you're right- things didn't go to plan. The grenade fizzled."

Jamie's eyes widened at that, the realization that Michael had not had a plan and had fully intended to die in that warehouse. A chill swept through her, feeling for the first time what Michael's determination was really capable of. He had always been the one with the plan, and even if things did not go to plan, he was able to turn defeat into a draw at least. There was something unsettling in his sudden decision to end it all.

"Well, now we have another chance at him."

"We could abort."

A glance showed what she thought about that and it mirrored his feelings. They could not let him get away again. A setback with a stroke of Fate going their way was no way to end their hunt, at least while the target was alive.

The cab arrived at the ordered spot and Michael paid, draping his jacket over Jamie to help remain invisible to the commoners as they walked. Her hand unconsciously found his, linking fingers in the way couples do and leaning a little against his body, drawing closer in the cool night. The closeness did not bother him in the least, for once. In fact, it felt comfortable and warming, even as his body told him that her hands felt cold.

"This is nice." Jamie had spoken first, a sign that she was alert as ever.

"Yes. Yes it is."

The walk ended by the door to their office, the street empty and lacking any obvious sign that things were amiss. The more subtle signs were there, of course, and both had noticed them on the approach, providing a non-reaction in order to maintain surprise.

"Are you ready, Jamie?"

"You know I am."

"Lets do this."

The two entered the building and ran up the stairs, reaching their office quickly and started digging through their gear, finding the things they needed as fast as possible. Jamie stuffed a pair of backpacks with loaded magazines, grenades, and tools while Michael set up a pair of claymore mines at the door of the office. Amherst's men were only minutes away, he could feel, and it was important to give them a welcome.

He went back to the side room to find Jamie fixing Primacord around the large window.

"The sun will be up soon."

"Yeah."

She looked to him for a cue on how to feel, noting that he was calm and collected in spite of his face showing his mind's race to get ahead. She was sticking to what she knew for the time being.

"Window's done."

"Good. Load and lock, and then flip that table against the window."

They both picked up their G36 rifles, loading and chambering the 5.56 NATO rounds before ducking behind the file cabinets for protection from both the door and the window.

Silence sunk in, their shallow breathing hushed in order to hear the sounds of the enemy. Michael heard Jamie's breathing pause for a moment, her head cocking slightly in a strain to better hear. She slowly exhaled and slipped her earplug back in, then gripped her rifle tighter, flipping off the safety.

"They're on the stairs, next floor down."

"Are you sure it's them?"

"Absolutely. I heard the gritty slide of a Kalashnikov safety clicking off, so it's not the maid."

Michael smiled softly- proud of her abilities. "They actually had their safety on? They underestimate us."

"Not for long..."

The claymores exploded, ripping through the slowly opening door and the surrounding wall, shredding the armed thugs on the other side before they knew what was happening. Jamie then fired off the Primacord, the metal table directing the explosion outwards and launching the window and frame out into the street. The pair launched themselves over the windowsill and rappelled the four stories to the sidewalk below, ignoring the stunned looks of the few innocents foolish enough to still be there after two explosions.

"We need to get back to the car."

If there was anything Michael had to say, it was promptly interrupted by a shot that rang out and whizzed between them, scant inches from killing either. The pair split and sought cover, Michael in a recessed doorway, Jamie behind the corner of a car, and their rifles swung up to meet the threat, pausing only to let the few remaining innocents clear the field of fire. More shots flew at them and Jamie locked her sight on the muzzle flash, firing a pair of shots in burst-fire and watching the target's muzzle rise up and away as he fell over dead while clenching the trigger.

"We need to move! Their back up will be down on us in a moment!" Michael started looking for a way to move without getting filled full of holes.

"That's their problem!"

For all of his teachings and personal foibles, he could not understand where Jamie got the bravado she showed during a firefight. She was even smiling softly as she focused on her sight and snapped off shots at the enemy.

A stray thought reminded him that she was probably right in her comment. It really was their problem, as they were attacking, and to that end, he had an idea of how to make the break they needed.

"Get ready to move!"

At Jamie's nod, Michael pulled both a smoke and fragmentation grenades out of his pack and held them in one hand, pulling the pins on both. A strong left-handed lob launched them towards the enemy, the frag grenade soaring farther with its heavier and denser mass, and landing spaced several meters apart. Perhaps they thought it another diversion, just as Michael hoped, or they weren't in their right mind, but two of the assailants started to move forward to avoid losing their quarry in the smoke.

The frag grenade exploded, killing the two men and injuring at least one more, as well as shattering the windows of the nearby cars and buildings with its deadly payload. Michael gave a single glance at the scene to check for obviously wounded civilians and then followed Jamie's lead to the east, heading for where the car was parked. They ran hard, dashing through intersections without a thought to the early morning traffic; their clothes, packs, and rifles raising eyebrows among the citizens that were out and about. Fortunately, they had outpaced their pursuers enough that stray shots weren't being fired.

Jamie stopped at a large planter and settled into a crouched firing position, resting on the planter for stability. Michael made the curb and slipped into a doorway to cover, startling the bakery's owner who had just started his day.

"Six, Michael. I have a shot."

He could not see them among the cars and dim light, but he had no doubt she was right. They had to cut down the numbers a little. "Send it!"

"Here we go." A car flashed across her field of vision as she sighted across the intersection at the enemy running towards them on the sidewalk. Her finger pressed the trigger and the single round streaked between cars, narrowly missing an innocent, and struck a pursuer in the head, dropping him instantly and tripping up at least two of the others as he landed on the pavement.

Two of the men were unfazed by the attack and rushed to cross the street through the traffic, but were immediately cut off from their comrades by a large truck. They pressed on the last several yards only to find the place where Michael and Jamie had stopped was empty. There was no discernable place for the pair to hide and the confusion made their guard lax for just long enough...

The door of the bakery opened, the traditional bell above the door ringing, drawing their attention towards Michael, who was looking across his pistol sights without any emotion at all, the range all but impossible to miss at. The sharp bark of the forty caliber resounded through the street as the two shots rang out, blasting out the head of the lackey. Before his friend could react, Jamie swung her legs from under the car she was hiding beneath, catching his legs in a vice-like scissor grip and forcing his knees to bend, throwing him off balance and to the sidewalk. She was out in a flash and twisted his arms behind him, feeling both shoulders tear a bit from the force applied. His scream was silenced when she smashed his face into the pavement, cracking his skull and ending his life in a bloody mess.

Both looked at the carnage for a restful moment before turning their attention back to their escape. Only three were left, but they would not hesitate to shoot once they found their friends.

"We need to move."

Jamie smiled back at him, popping her magazine out to check the count and then exchanging it for a full one. "I thought we could to do some window shopping first."

"Only if the window has a Jaguar in it. Now lets go."

The car was still where they had left it, parked comfortably inside a hotel garage, taking up a space that was reserved for the long-term lessee of the penthouse suite, a person who was rich enough to have it and too busy to ever use it. Michael paid the garage attendant the final sum for his courtesy, a hefty five hundred Euros, and then led the way to the car, noting that it had been well cared for. The tells were still in place, so nothing inside had been disturbed and a cautious check of the trunk and its arsenal confirmed that.

Jamie tossed her bag into the back seat and climbed into the front, taking time to stash her Springfield under the seat in the holster she had put there. Michael climbed in beside her and fired up the SV8 engine, taking a few scant seconds to enjoy the sound of the supercharger as it whined in time with the engine revs.

"How long do you think it'll take them to figure out where we're heading?

Michael shook his head and waited for the temperature gauge for the engine to normalize. "Not sure. They're sure as hell not going to be expecting this."

"I don't think anyone would expect this... Where did you get that anyway?" Jamie glanced at the crate on the back seat that Michael had transferred from the trunk.

"A friend gifted it to me... For a special occasion." He smiled softly, remembering the night in question.

"Tanya...Hmm, I should have figured."

"Jealous?" He started to drive, pulling out into the street and heading towards their new destination.

"I couldn't compete before. I still can't." Jamie's hands quickly loaded her Walther magazines and tucked them into the pouches on her suit.

"You're getting there, Jamie. It's comforting and impressive and painful all at once. I wouldn't trade you for anyone, perhaps even her."

"Liar."

"I said 'perhaps'."

A look told her all she needed to know: Maybe he was still hurting inside, but he was healing slowly as well. Regardless of his feelings for his dead girlfriend, he was feeling something for her as well.

The thoughts encompassed the rest of the drive and Jamie's mind only cleared when they entered the target area, and Michael finally stopped the car beside a certain building. They camouflaged the crate with a paper wrap, making it look like a large parcel, and Jamie carried it on her shoulder as they made their way to the roof.

The early morning sun was in their eyes as it peeked above the distant buildings of Milan but they hunched in the shadows of the roof ledge, working quickly to get set up. Michael was finally ready and trained his spotting scope on the warehouse they had nearly been killed in, noting with some amusement that numerous vehicles were still parked outside. Maybe Amherst was still there...

His phone was in his hand, thumbing through the memory and calling up Amherst's number waiting for it to be picked up. Finally it was, the voice on the other end sounding surprised, if only by the timing.

"_Yes?"_

"It's me, Ian. I'm just calling to let you know that I'm fucking you in the ass as we speak. I hope you feel it burn."

Michael ended the call and waved a finger at Jamie, at which she stood up and leveled the AT-4 launcher at the ammunition bunker section of the warehouse. Michael had set the HEDP 502 warhead for a delayed detonation. It would make it through the walls of the storage area, of that he had no doubt.

"I've got a shot!"

Michael's answer was emotionless. "Fire."

The missile roared, pounding their ears and blasting fire behind them, and then streaked through the sky towards the target. The projectile slammed into the wall and there was silence for eternal seconds, enough time for Jamie to toss the launcher and watch with some enjoyment as the explosions finally began in earnest.

The rocket exploded among the ammunition crates, triggering off some parachute flares among them, which in turn launched randomly about, including towards the highly deadly pile of unstable explosives.

The side of the building seemed to rocket out into the rail yard, the concrete and re-bar having little effect in containing the blast. The roof fell in almost instantly, burying the secondary explosions that were still occurring among the volatile contents inside. A wave of fire and raw kinetic energy blasted through the rest of the building, annihilating the ground floor and weakening the structure sufficiently that the three stories seemed to sigh in relief, the building sagging in on itself as if returning from a hard day's work. In less than a minute the building was rubble and scrap metal- a disposal contractor's wet dream.

Jamie frowned, feeling something nagging at her conscience. "Do you think we got him?"

"No." Michael felt it too. The lack of satisfaction that he was sure would come when Amherst was finally history. "We just tagged a few of his lackeys and cut off his cash supply. He's still out here somewhere."

Michael turned and led the way back to the car but Jamie lagged behind a moment more, smiling softly as the wind brushed through her hair and the remains of the building settled in on itself. Who knew how many had been killed in that blast. She really didn't care anymore. Her only goal was to kill Ian Amherst, and she was enjoying the hunt itself now. It still amazed her at how fast a mood could change by merely going from the hunted to the hunter.

Daylight had invaded the city once again, the mix of old and new buildings differing slightly in their colors but looking to Michael as one solid shade of beige. Perhaps it was his mindset affecting his view of things. The city didn't matter. Nor did the people, really. Innocent casualties were preferably avoided, of course, but he now had to admit that he no longer really cared. His decision to destroy the whole building had certainly attested to that.

Police and fire responders whizzed past the Jag on their way to the mess and the thought that someone actually cared enough for Amherst and his operation as to try to save them made Michael laugh softly to himself.

"Forgive them, O Lord, for they know not what they do."

"What?" Jamie's eyes locked onto him, his words having broken a ten-minute silence between them.

"Nothing."

"Hm." She returned to looking out the window at the world as it slipped past. Moments like this were when the guilt usually tried to come back, but neither of them felt any. They had made the situation their own, stopping just short of reveling in it.

A stoplight separated them from the path out of town and Michael knew a little about the road he was about to travel. Isolated, twisting, and dangerous for even the most prepared- a perfect image of what their mission and lives were now. The light turned green and he floored it, blasting through the intersection and speeding out of city limits, the car coming into its own and hurtling them towards wherever, just as they themselves were in life.

"Michael? Slow down."

He looked down and noted that he was doing almost two hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, the last of the straight stretches of the road coming quickly to an end as the hills loomed above. It did not satisfy him, though. Something inside him was screaming loudly, but he could not understand the words or desires, only the lack of something.

"There's something wrong..."

"I know."

Her acknowledgement of it only made the unintelligible screaming in his head louder, making it almost impossible to concentrate on anything else. There was trouble coming.

"I don't suppose you have a Stinger in the trunk right now, do you?"

"I left it at home."

Jamie racked the bolt on her G36 and rolled down the window. "Chopper at two-o-clock. It's him."

Michael looked out in that direction but could only see the sky through the trees bordering the road. "How-"

"Trust me, it's him. I can smell the blood."

The trees gave way to clearings and he could see it now, a Bell Jet-Ranger with a man in the door, machine gun at the ready.

"M240, I think, Michael. It'll shred this car in no time."

The muzzle flashed and Michael immediately swerved, feeling a few rounds pelt the rear panels after they bounced off of the pavement beside the car.

"Steady up now! Give me a shot!"

Jamie was hanging outside the window with her elbow on the roof, steadying her aim through the sight. A full-auto burst made the helo jink roughly, spoiling the aim of the machine gunner inside and making his next volley go wide.

Several more bursts kept the pilot on his toes and the gunner tried desperately to hit the Jaguar. Michael's instincts were the only thing guiding him as he gauged the appropriate amount of time between swerves that would allow Jamie a steady shot before taking them out of the gunner's aim. He had not studied vehicle/helicopter combat tactics, as it was something he had always figured was best not to do.

The clearings ended and the car slipped beneath a canopy of green, making the helo maneuver off out of sight, but not out of hearing. It was lurking in wait for them to show themselves.

Jamie took the breather to reload her magazines from an ammo can.

"Any ideas, Michael?"

"Not a one."

"What about the Beo in the trunk?"

He frowned, thinking about it and further ahead. "We'd have to stop to get a good aim on him."

"Yeah..." Stopping was not an option. A vehicle at a stop was dead.

He was about to mention another thought when a sight ahead made him freeze. He had only a second to react and slammed on the brakes, nearly losing Jamie out the window as the car's anti-lock brakes chirped the tires rapidly, trying desperately to maintain grip against the weight of the car.

They both stared out of the windshield at the three cars blocking the road, complete with men with automatic rifles. Amherst was there, his own gun leveled at Michael, a victorious look on his smug face once again.

"Tell me he's reading my mind..."

"I'm too busy waiting for the skiers with Uzi's to show up."

Michael swallowed hard, wincing as the only option at hand came to mind. Escape wasn't impossible this time, only really unlikely.

Amherst smiled again, ready to start another monologue.

"Well, Christiansen... I hope-"

Michael floored the car in reverse, choosing not to sit through another boring glimpse into a madman's head. He spun the car around in a perfect J-turn and flipped the paddle shifter into first, flooring it again as bullets from the rifles ripped into the back-end and fractured the rear window. The car strained as Michael kept on the pedal, willing it to accelerate faster than it was capable.

"Jamie, get ready. You've only got one chance at that helo."

Jamie looked at the helicopter ahead, hovering just above the road in the clearing, the machine gun aiming straight at them, waiting for them to come into an inescapable range.

"Transmission?" Hitting that would probably force it to land.

"Take care of the gunner first. Take the pilot if you can."

The car was speeding towards the target, wind whipping Jamie's hair as she leaned out of the window to take aim. The red dot slipped over the door of the helo and she let loose, trusting the rounds to do their job and fly true. The machine gunner fired at the same time, bullets stitching a line on the pavement towards the Jag as the pilot added collective to get out of Jamie's fire and the gunner over-corrected for it, going low.

A round caught him in the chest and he pitched forward in pain, losing balance and falling from the rising helicopter, landing hard in the road in front of them. Michael swerved hard to miss the body, breaking the wheels loose and sliding. The car missed the body but a wheel caught the machine gun, catching it up into the control arm and flipping it around wildly before tossing it free.

Michael felt the rear tire go flat, with the pull to the left and associated sponginess of the rubber flexing on the road. Letting off of the gas eased it some and helped to maintain control, but they were extremely vulnerable now. He started kicking himself mentally for skipping on the run-flat tires.

"Incoming!"

Jamie's warning made him glance around, spotting Amherst's SUVs coming from behind. The Jag's reluctance to stabilize on the road made a faster speed impossible.

"Jamie! Take them out."

"Yes sir!"

She leaned out the window again and started trading shots with the lead chaser, but the first couple of hits only served to show her that the cars were armored, with even the rifle rounds barely marking it. She immediately switched to trying to hit the shooter, but the smaller target was difficult with the erratic movement of the Jag, the tail wavering as Michael tried to keep it on the road at sixty miles per hour.

The helo roared closer and tried to knock the Jag with its skid, bumping the car twice before pulling up to avoid more trees. The resulting swerves rattled Jamie around, nearly tossing her out of the window. She glanced back in to look at Michael, his hands white on the wheel and eyes quickly shifting between the roads ahead and behind. He was trying his best to keep them alive and she had to do the same.

Jamie slapped in her last magazine for the G36 and leaned out again, flipping it to full-auto and firing, letting the car's motion spread the bullets around. Her second burst finally found its mark and the gunner collapsed half out of the window. Jamie's victory was short-lived, however, as the car pulled back and let another move up, its passenger leaning out with an MP5.

The third burst emptied the rifle and she had no choice but to toss it away and pull her Walther, its size looking pathetic compared to what she was facing down. She focused carefully, snapping off shots as the target slid into her sights. Her slide locked back on the empty magazine and she quickly swapped it for one on her suit. The MP5 rattled in bursts and she could feel the bullets whizzing past her head.

Michael thought he was getting the hang of the way the car was reacting to the controls and he added a bit more speed, hoping to keep the armored vehicles at some distance. Jamie was firing away and changing magazines as fast as she could, but was quickly running low. He thought he should tell her that she only had two left, in case she had lost count in the action.

"Jamie!"

"Yeah?"

"You have two left."

"What?"

She turned her head to look at him, not understanding what he was saying. His eyes met hers and Michael experienced a moment in time- a frozen image, like a picture- where everything seemed to stop. His mind tried to figure out what was going on- why this was happening now.

The moment was over just as quickly when she started to look back at the pursuer, followed by the shocking image of her head snapping back as a bullet caught her in the eye, a gout of clear liquid flashing out of it.

Jamie sagged against the door and then slid into a heap between the floor and the seat, her body lifeless and rag-doll like. The sight shocked Michael, freezing him to stone as his mind tried to comprehend the image- his bold, beautiful, and invincible Jamie was dead.

He didn't feel the next burst from the submachine gun, even as it tore through the back window and winged him on the shoulder. His shock was totally overwhelming as he felt his world start to fall to pieces around him. There was just no way it was real.

The armored SUV moved up and rammed the back of the car, releasing it from its tenuous hold on the road and slipping it sideways. Instinctually, Michael started to correct the car's motion, a correction lacking the adjustment for the blown tire. He over-corrected and the car started to slide the other way, slipping into the gravel along the edge and dragging the car that way.

The car plunged off of an embankment at an angle, hitting nose first and cartwheeling into the air. Michael watched in slow motion as the world outside spun, and then Jamie's body was lifted up and out of the window, away from his out-reaching hand's grasp just before the roof crumpled in.

Ian Amherst climbed from the SUV and stepped down the embankment, not bothering to train his rifle where his men's guns already were. The Jaguar was a mess, with its roof crushed in and the front end smashed and caked with mud, and every panel crumpled beyond repair. Half of a tree was embedded in the passenger side from the front, and the driver's door was loosely fastened.

Despite his feeling that everything was quiet, he approached the door carefully, knowing full well that this pair was very difficult to kill. No one had given him such a hard time before. He wasn't sure whether it was their level of force they presented or their seeming inconsistency in predictability, but he knew that they should not be taken for granted. He had done so three times so far, to his misfortune.

Christiansen was there in the driver's seat. His arm flopped out as the door came open, as unconscious and harmless as the rest of him. The girl was missing, though, and given her own dangerous nature, Amherst glanced around rapidly to find her.

"Phil! You and Robbie fan out and find the girl."

The two stepped away and started rooting through the brush carefully, fully aware of the threat they were facing. Amherst turned back to Michael Christiansen, hearing a moan from the man as he slowly started to come to. He was in no shape to move on his own, likely having a concussion from the roof caving in.

"Take your time waking up, Christiansen... When you do, you're in for a world of pain."

Michael struggled to open his eyes. His head hurt, his eyes were blurry, and none of his muscles would move as he wanted. He'd heard Amherst's words but failed to comprehend, so his mind was chewing on those, even as he struggled to regain control of his body.

"Amherst! I found the girl!"

Michael managed to turn his head a little, watching as Amherst moved off out of sight to attend to his lackey. Some of his listening skills were coming back and he focused to understand what Amherst was saying in return.

"Is she dead?"

"Yeah. She's got a bullet through her eye."

"Empty the magazine into her and lets get moving."

"But she's dead already!"

"I said make sure!" There was a rustling of underbrush and Michael could see Ian Amherst again, smirking at him. "Phillip. Get him out of there and into the car."

A man unfastened Michael seatbelt and pulled him free of the car, setting off a new wave of pain from his head. The last sound he heard before falling unconscious again was a ten round burst from an MP5.


	22. Chapter 44 to 45

Chapter 44: Jamie's Got a Gun

The pain...

The pain was coming from every part of her mind and body. She could not remember any time in either of her lives that she had felt so much pain.

And the fatigue... God, she was tired. Even through the pain she could feel the sluggishness and aching that the body used to signal when it has had enough. It didn't even feel good to have her eyes closed- to take a much-needed rest after the hard exertion.

"_Get up! You're not done yet._"

It was Janet... The melodic voice with the hard, jagged, reprimanding tone that Jamie never remembered having when she was Janet. She had never used it, not even on herself.

"I'm so tired. So tired..."

Her voice trailed off as she felt her consciousness slipping away towards the abyss. A part of her was aware enough to realize that she would never, ever, return from that place.

"_I told you to get up, Jamie. You aren't going to die like this. I won't allow it! We've worked too hard to get this far!_"

Jamie could feel it now- the part of her mind and soul that was still Janet. It was the only part of her that had not gone numb and started to slip away into the abyss. Janet still wanted to live and Jamie just wanted to die. Wasn't that funny?

"_Get up, Jamie. Wake up, for God's sake!_"

A hard slap to her face made her eyes open out of shock, the lights blinding her with a sharp pain that rose above all of the rest. She shook her head and fought her way back away from the edge; the strength to do so coming from someplace foreign to her.

It was the warehouse where she and her friends had been slaughtered. Through the many times she had dreamt about it she had lost her fear and repulsion to the place. The part of her that was sustaining her soul felt as though it belonged here, an idea that was brought home by the sight of sight of Janet, the whole one that Jamie knew, stretched out alongside the very (or was it nearly) dead body of the old Janet Wells. They were like the 'find-the-changes' pages in the tabloids, with the cut up, naked body on the right and the whole, clothed one on the left.

"_I keep asking where I came from._" Janet spoke without moving from her spot, as if the imitation was conductive to understanding. "_Compared to who I was and who I became, my time was short. I was this thing lying beside me, and now I'm the thing that you are. So if I am so rigidly defined in between you two, does that mean I was born here?_"

Jamie struggled to crawl over from where she had been sprawled out on the floor. The pain had subsided enough that she could feel the hard, cold concrete, and smell the blood of her friends.

"_Does that also mean that I died here?_"

"You're not dead. You might have been born here, but you're still alive inside me. In fact, I think you're the only thing keeping me alive right now." Jamie couldn't find the strength to smile at the irony. Moving the short distance and rolling over beside the pair of Janets had taken everything she had been able to muster.

The silence was overwhelming, but calming at the same time, especially to Jamie, who felt like going to sleep again. A nudge from Janet stirred her enough to keep her grip on life.

"_If you had to pick one thing from the life you know to frame and put on the wall, what would it be?_"

"Like a picture?"

"_Yeah._"

"Oh... I don't know. Maybe that night in Paris when we got dressed up, went out to eat, and Michael kissed me on the cheek so gently. I could see the pain inside him, but also the relief that being so close to me brought to him. He needed someone to love him, and I wanted to love him as much as Tanya had. I couldn't compare, though, and I guess that's why he pushed me away so many times."

"_You really believe that is the reason?_"

"Yes."

"_Being reborn as a cyborg certainly hasn't given you any more in the way of brains._"

A surge of energy flowed through her as the insult took hold. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"_It means that you don't understand him at all. It means that the reason that you are willing to let him go and just give in to death is because you have misread your importance to him._"

The smug tone from Janet made Jamie want to reach over and slap it out of her, but her strength was lacking. It seemed to be flowing in spurts, not unlike the blood she could feel flowing out of her body.

"Well? Are you going to enlighten me? You've made it clear that you don't think I can figure it out."

"_You don't __want__ to figure it out. You've blinded yourself to it, and so you don't see it._"

There was a bloody cough from the carved up Janet beside them and a chill swept through them both as their impending death felt closer still. They were all going to die if Jamie didn't find the strength to live.

"_The truth about Michael is that he loves you as much as he loved Tanya. He felt it even before she came to Rome, but he was obviously not going to give up on her, not with so much at stake. He has been hurting ever since because he wants to love you more than he has been able to, but doesn't want to hurt her memory. Maybe... Maybe, given a few years, he could have moved on from her, but he knew that it wasn't going to go as planned. He expected that you and he were going to die in this, and so he couldn't bring himself to say it to you, out of the fear that he was going to have to watch you die while he lived on._"

"NO! If he loved me that much, he would have the guts to tell me!" Her eyes filled with tears as she said the words, knowing that it was what she had known all along. Michael was afraid to love because he was tired of facing death and surviving. Survivor's guilt... Just one occurrence was enough to break the average person, two destroyed almost all of the rest, but as many as he had built up over the years... There was no real way she could blame him for wanting to get it all over with.

" 'I think he wants to die... He just hasn't found anyone that can make it happen'."

"_It's ironic that your words about Amherst strike so close to home with Michael as well. That is why Michael wants to keep going after him- because they are opposites that will destroy each other when they collide._"

"That's not true. Maybe Michael believes that to be the case, but I can see that they are different. He just needs me to tell him that."

Janet sat up with a laugh, patting the dying Janet on the head for strength. "_How are you going to do it, genius? You're dying. You're almost as dead as this one here, and unless you find some internal strength fast, you aren't going to last another five minutes._"

To punctuate this she brushed her fingers across Jamie's forehead, and the slight touch made Jamie fall sickeningly towards the abyss, suddenly overcome with the desperate need to sleep forever.

"Don't... No. I... I need to hang on."

"_Sweet, sweet Jamie. We're both dying, and there's no way we can stop it like this. I told you before that you needed to get stronger and you thought I meant physically. You dummy, I meant stronger in your convictions. The body means nothing without the will to use it. You've killed us all with your lack of understanding._"

"No..."

Janet brushed the hair from in front of Jamie's eyes and stared into them, still finding enough awareness in them to get through to her.

"_Now listen to me. I have enough strength to get through this, but it's going to kill us both. The only way to give Michael a chance is to use our combined strength to kill Amherst. We can't even afford to use any to save Michael- we just have to go do our thing and hope he makes it. The only way I will give you this chance is if we become one, and that means I'll be in control._"

"That's so..."

"_I know, it's a little metaphysical in concept but you've never had a problem with believing in something. From your point of view it might even seem like blackmail, but you need to realize that it's simply the way it has to be. I've been there, speaking to you, telling you what our mission is in this life, and you've heard it. You just have to believe in it._"

"What?" Jamie couldn't understand what Janet was talking about.

"_Our divine mandate. The reason you and I are here right now._"

Jamie felt numb all over again and her grip on life was slipping. It was all she could do to keep focus on what she was hearing.

"_You and I are charged by God to destroy Amherst. You've known it, even embraced it at times, and now it's time to decide whether you are going to follow orders or abandon your post._"

"Please... I just want to end this all. I don't have the strength."

Janet buzzed loudly and grabbed Jamie's nose, twisting it painfully. "_Wrong answer, Jamie! You are not going to give up! If you have any hope at all of redemption for the many, many lives you've snuffed out, it is to do what you are told. Only by God's Grace are we forgiven, and He is very interested in how you are performing right now. To fail now is to fail for eternity._"

"I can't! I don't have the strength!" Jamie's eyes were pouring tears at her own failing. She was trying, really trying, and it wasn't doing any good. There was nothing left in the well.

"_Do you want more people to die?_"

"No."

"_Do you want Amherst to cut more people? Do you want him to cut Michael?_"

"NO!"

The tears were really pouring now, perhaps the only tenuous grip the girl had on life.

"_Do you want Michael to die without knowing how much you love him?_"

"NO!"

Janet felt the spark of desperation in Jamie, the acknowledgement that she wanted to trade everything for the strength, do anything, to save him, if only for a moment more together. She leaned over and kissed Jamie, breathing her strength into the body that would be the means of her vengeance.

Jamie's eyes went wide as she was kissed, not knowing what the sudden spark of life was inside, but certain that it was morally questionable at best to be kissing another woman. Janet pulled away slightly with a soft smile; the same soft smile Jamie had always given Michael.

"_It's okay. We were the same person once. With this kiss, we are one again._"

Their lips met again and Jamie realized that Janet was right. The only way forward was as one and that meant becoming something different from both. Perhaps that something was what they originally split off from.

It hurt.

The pain was back, and it hurt more than she had ever felt before. Her chest burned like it was on fire and her head pounded as if it was being hit with a sledge. Her eyes could no longer see Janet, or anything else, and she screamed as her mind began to burn inside her skull.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, a scream of agony that sounded through the trees surrounding her and seemed to reverberate off of the hills beyond. Her eyes were burning now as well and she instinctively covered them, feeling the blood there and the stinging as the artificial optic nerve fought to transmit what it thought she was seeing to her brain.

Her right hand felt different from her left and she opened her eyes to see why, not seeing her right hand at first, but then realizing that only her left eye was working. As she brought her right hand into view she saw the remains of her destroyed right eye; the clear liquid mixed with blood and semi-flexible shards of whatever the agency used to make eyeballs out of.

She started to panic, knowing that just behind her eye was her brain, and the memory of the shot that did the damage made her reach in with her fingers, probing past the shards to the back of her eye socket to feel for the nine-millimeter that had to either have been stopped by the armored plating installed there or had lodged itself into her brain.

There was a dent, about the size of an expanded hollow-point bullet, with the associated jagged feel, but it had held. The bullet wasn't there, but the dent was, and that's all that mattered. It occurred to her that the hollow-point bullet had been fortunate. A ball or solid-core bullet would have lanced through the eye and probably through the armor, especially in the higher-powered mil-spec rounds that were common. But the hollow-point bullet had already started expanding on it's way through the tougher-than-normal walls of her eye, and the larger surface area had caused it to mushroom more on impact with the plate, dissipating the energy.

It hurt her head, it hurt a lot, but she was still alive, and all because of a bullet designed to do more damage after entry than it's cheaper cousin. It was almost funny.

She laughed anyway, ignoring the pain the movement caused, and continued laughing for nearly a minute as the feeling of being alive against all odds made her mind stop working in a sane manner for a little while.

Eventually the laughter tapered off into an exhausted sigh, the last one she was going to have for a long time. Her mind started to take stock of her situation, her goal, and her ability.

She was sitting in a ravine next to the crushed remains of Michael's Jag, late afternoon setting in, and Michael was nowhere to be seen. The Jag was upright and the driver's door was open but not seriously damaged, so he had either gotten out or was taken out. The roof was crushed in so it had apparently rolled, and she had been ejected, thankfully, as a large broken tree branch was jammed into the passenger side through the windshield.

She had to find Michael because Amherst was going to be there as well. Amherst must die, and her whole body and mind was now devoted to it. She had become whole again, including the bitter victim that had sprung from those hours in the warehouse of death, but aside from the desire for vengeance now being impossible to ignore, Jamie couldn't say she felt that much different.

Finally, she started checking her body for damage. Her suit was torn in numerous places and blood splotched even more. She counted six holes in her, including a possibly serious one near her chest that hurt every time she took a deep breath. Her right arm was acting a little strange as well, responding sluggishly to fine-motor commands, a sign that the bullet that had passed through her forearm did something to hinder it. Over all, she was in workable shape, at least in the short term.

A part of her mind told her to go back to the agency and get repairs, but the more practical side of her overruled it, as there was simply no time. Self-preservation was no longer a point to consider, a laughable situation given that it was exactly what the agency specified from the beginning and she had spent so much time fighting against. Michael had wanted her to believe that she was of more value than she had been told to be by the agency, and she had finally started to, but now her life was forfeit in order to avenge the lost, and she had no choice in the matter.

"It's time..."

Jamie struggled to her feet and swayed slightly as her mind adjusted to the badly scrambled input from her senses and the haze from the pain. The trunk of the car was loose from the wreck and her left arm tore it from the remaining hinge, tossing it carelessly aside. The car was a write-off anyway.

The Beo was there and undamaged by the tossed contents of the compartment, but it was locked down and needed the keys. She climbed into the trunk and reached through the smashed back window to free the seat from it's locks, and pulled the rifle through the gap, glad that Michael was smart enough to make things simple.

His equipment case was there and she dug through it, putting extra magazines and ammunition, along with numerous other items she would need, into her large backpack. There was a first-aid kit as well and her brain told her to take the time necessary to patch up, as it would pay off later.

A cigarette lighter and piece of steel cauterized the bullet holes fairly well, and taped gauze pads covered the rest. A makeshift eye-patch covered her right eye and actually made it feel a little better. Finally, she pulled a pack of pills from the kit, ones she knew were meant for her and her alone. It was the drug, a chemical she had made every effort to get away from, but whose properties were going to be the only thing she could count on to get her through to the end. There was only the single sheet of foil-covered tablets, about a dozen in total, and she knew that the stuff was also used as an anesthetic when they were having repairs made, so dosage was going to be critical. She didn't want to find herself falling unconscious at an inconvenient time.

She took four of the pills and washed them down with a large swallow from a vodka bottle Michael had stashed away. It was unhealthy, it was foolish, but she needed every hedge against the pain that was sure to come. Pills and booze... She was going to be a freight train when she got up to speed- powerful and unstoppable.

Michael's pistol was in the front seat on the floor and went into the backpack with everything else. She kept her Springfield handy, though, as she was going to have to be creative in order to catch up with him. She was going to have to be ruthless.

Jamie smiled in the car door's mirror as she wiped a little more blood on her face. The final act was about to start.

Raimondo Moretti loved his new Lotus Exige. Sure his friends had laughed as he passed up the Ferraris and Lamborghinis that were easily in his price range, but they were rich-kids who didn't know how to appreciate the things their money bought. More than one had totaled their brand new car and simply brushed it off and bought another, never learning anything from it.

Not Raimondo. His family had worked their way up into being wealthy after he had started his life virtually in the gutter. Every day he had worked hard to make the family business progress, and with the booming of the Internet, he had seen an opportunity, one that his father had taken advantage of and had played well. Now their company was international, if only just, but the domestic side was booming and they were seeing their hard work pay off. This car was a gift to himself, to reward his determination and tenacity that had been the focus of his life.

This car was his, so he had purchased one he liked in spite of it's limited performance (when compared with the more expensive players), and had promised to treat it like the lady it was.

His careful adherence to the speed limit was the only reason he noticed the woman, clad as she was entirely in black and hunched over on the side of the road. Her head raised as she heard the engine rev with his downshift, and she struggled to her feet and started to shamble into the middle of the road, seriously hurt.

Raimondo was nothing if not a compassionate person, but then only a heartless bastard would ignore an obvious need for assistance, so he braked hard to stop near the woman. Her voice struggled to reach his ears as he climbed out and stepped to her side, just in time to catch her from falling down.

"Help... Help me."

"What's happened, Miss? Where are you hurt?"

Her eye was bandaged and the blood on her face made it clear that something terrible had happened.

"Please... Our car went off of the road. I need... I need..."

He pulled her closer as her voice began to trail off and strained to hear. "What? How can I-"

His stomach felt like he had landed on a concrete post and the force of a blow made him stagger back, seeking to stay upright as he tried to understand what had just happened. The woman got to her feet and pointed a gun at him, her eyes deadly serious if a bit amused.

"I need your car."

He finally lost his balance and sat roughly in the dirt on the shoulder, still holding his stomach. "A car-jacking? You're car-jacking me?"

"Yes. Sorry." She grabbed a backpack and rifle from a shrub beside the road and climbed into the car.

Something in Raimondo snapped. He had worked so hard for that car, given so much... And now it was being stolen. He lurched to his feet and ran to the door, grabbing the woman by the arm and trying to pull her from the car through the window.

"You bitch! You're not taking it! I won't let you! Get...Out!"

He had forgotten the gun entirely in his rage. The muzzle was suddenly jammed painfully into his chest and the woman's eye seemed void of all humanity, all emotion. Her words seemed mechanical, robotic even, and were just as much of a surprise as the shot she fired through his heart.

"I said I'm sorry."

The body dropped to the ground beside the car, having only scant moments of life left; moments Raimondo used to ask the age-old question of why. Why him?

Jamie knew the look on the dead man's face. It was the same face her friends had made as they gasped their last breaths- the same face she had as she took hers. The answer was simple, if less than satisfying.

"Because."

Jamie dropped the clutch and spun the car around, something that was slightly tougher with the mid-engine design of the Lotus. She drove slowly up the road until she spotted what she was looking for alongside it: Her Walther pistol. Having retrieved it, she settled into the car and started driving back towards Milan, looking to put as much distance between her self and the body she had just left behind. It wasn't the first, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

No, it was just a lead-in for what was to come.

The car was loaded and Jamie was thankful for that. The windows went down and she took the deepest breaths she could as the smell of blood faded into the wind. Clean air helped to take her mind off of the innocent person she had just killed. It had been the easiest thing to do in the situation, and were she not buzzing from the alcohol, she might have found it frightening.

"Oh, you're going to hate yourself for it tomorrow, assuming you survive." The eye in the mirror seemed amused. "But that's not likely." Morality had taken a flying leap from her mind, an attribute of the woman who had been born in that warehouse on that ugly, God-forsaken night. Jamie could feel that woman controlling her body in the way that she feared- the way that had tried to kill Michael.

The hell of it was, it felt good.

"Time to make things happen."

She picked up the phone that was sitting on the passenger seat and dialed the agency's number.

"_Social Welfare Agency._"

"This is Jamie Christiansen. Authenticate for non-secure line. Situation-critical."

"_Authenticate: Alpha Foxtrot seven._"

Jamie searched her mind for the response code she knew had been planted in her head for her 'phone-home' contingency. "X-ray Tango four dash Echo six."

"_Stand by._"

She was on hold for a moment before the transfer was made to a phone that rang. She wasn't sure who was supposed to pick up when she phoned in, but the voice that finally answered made sense once she remembered why she had a phone-home contingency. It assumed she was on the loose, injured, lacking instructions, and in danger of some form, which meant she was extremely dangerous to innocents around her. Survival was now her commanding instinct, though she doubted her programmers had anticipated that she would be acting the same way without their control.

"_Belisario. Jamie, are you okay?_"

He would understand. She could probably even trust him.

"I'm injured, but mobile and capable. Michael's been taken by Amherst. I need you to get me his location from the agency's tracker."

"_Tracker?_"

"Don't bull-shit me, Doctor. I know Michael's wearing a tracking device that was implanted after he collapsed in the rain. He found it when we were testing his bug-scanning equipment."

Her sharp tone had told Belisario what her actual state was. It's not that she cared, but he was going to waste time by trying to talk her down.

"_Jamie, tell me what you plan._"

"I'm going to try to save him. I need to know his location."

"_Jamie, you know I can't have you operating like this. You need to return here immediately, or to the nearest agency safe-house._"

"There's no time for that. I know you're recording this call so I'm just going to tell you for the record that I am refusing my return order. Send the teams after me for all I care. When they find me they can shoot the bad guys with me. But Michael is my first priority and I will not return until he is safe."

A slow car was blocking her path and she maneuvered around it sharply, creating a near-miss and getting some gestures in return. The silence on the other end of the phone surprised her a little. She could not tell what was going on in Belisario's head.

"_You've become a lot more than I expected. It gives me hope for the other girls._"

"I've had to grow up faster than the rest. That was something I had to do even before all of this started."

"_Don't let it end so soon, Jamie. There is so much more you can live for._"

It would have been touching if she had not known what was to come. Even delivered by his dispassionate voice, it warmed her.

"Michael needs me. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to save him. Besides, there's something he needs to know."

"_I understand. Ferro has the information you need and wants to talk to you. Hold on. And be careful."_

"I'll try."

The phone went dead for a couple of moments as she was put on hold, leaving her to her thoughts of what she was going to have to say to Ferro. She was going to have to take charge and put her off-balance from the start. It was the only way that Ferro seemed to back down, even to Michael.

"_Jamie, it's Ferro. I have the location for you and I'm sending it now to the phone you're using._"

A text message popped onto the screen with the numeric coordinates. The GPS in the dash quickly showed the place as being several kilometers west of Milan.

"Got it. Any idea what it is?"

"_Satellite imaging shows an industrial complex of some kind. It's owned by the same company as that warehouse Europol gave you. There are some storage tanks and large buildings, but that's all we can tell. We're working on it now._"

"Okay. Get whatever teams you can round up with an A-4 load-out and get there as fast as possible. I'm about a half-hour out from where I am."

"_It will take almost eighty minutes to get any teams there. That's assuming I can get the transport we would need._"

"Do what you can, Ferro. Michael doesn't deserve what they intend to give him."

"_I know. Do your best, Jamie._"

Jamie smiled. "You're not going to try to talk me out of it?"

"_It would be a waste of time that I could be spending arranging for your rescue. Am I right?_ _Besides, you wouldn't listen to it anyway._"

"Yeah."

"_Go save him, and good luck._"

"Good bye." She hadn't been able to say what she had wanted to- that Ferro wasn't the person Jamie had always thought her to be. Maybe Michael's persistence had brought out the human in her, something he seemed very good at.

The problem with that characteristic was that some people simply did not want to feel anything and would resist, even violently, any attempts to humanize them.

Amherst was such a man.

It wouldn't last long, Michel thought to himself. They would eventually tire of beating him and move on to the true torture, and then he could show them what a real man was. In spite of the repeated blows from fists and clubs, he had not uttered anything more than a grunt, something that seemed to anger the bastards even more as time went on. It wasn't as if he was trying to prove anything with his emotionless state. It was simply the most comfortable place to be since everything had gone to hell.

Watching Jamie die hurt him more than any physical pain Amherst's goons could administer, and if he were going to break down emotionally it would be for her, not for them or his self. He had been the one who had risked her life and he was the one who would take the responsibility for its end.

His tormentors took a break from their work and left him alone, his arms and legs numb from how tight he was restrained to the wooden chair. The light was switched out and the darkness enveloped him, possibly the worst thing they had done to him yet.

His mind, desperate for input, conjured up the moments before the crash. Jamie's determined look as she emptied her gun into the one chasing them, her smile as she glanced down at him, and then the blood as she took the lucky bullet to her eye and collapsed half out of the car window. The jolt had made her slide the rest of the way inside and the dead look in her remaining eye seemed to accuse him.

The car was rammed from behind and he lost traction, sliding over the edge and into the trees, rolling over multiple times. Somewhere between blinks she had disappeared from the car.

It didn't matter- she was dead now, and he would soon follow. Before that, though, he was going to put every bit of his strength into robbing them of satisfaction. They had underestimated Tanya- beautiful, sweet Tanya- and it had infuriated Amherst to no end. The large production he had made of her execution was to get some satisfaction from Michael since the woman had robbed him of it, and Michael had fallen for it. The things that had happened to Mario and Maria were on Michael's conscience because he had been too weak to think straight past Amherst's attacks.

"You're an idiot." Somehow the whisper to his self didn't help the situation any. A part of his mind took that realization and ran with it, getting him back into gear on finding some way to escape so that he could make Ian Amherst's life more miserable, if only for a little longer.

The wooden chair had a weakness, he could feel, and it would only take a little time to break it. The noise involved would bring the guards and end it before it began, however, and given the lack of feeling in his limbs, he would be too slow to react to anything without getting killed.

Still, as he stretched his legs a bit, he could feel the back shifting a little, and the chair swayed as if the legs weren't solidly attached.

"Damn... Sloppy methods. It's like he wants me to escape." That wasn't it. This was just one chair among many that were around, all wooden, and built like dining chairs. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see spots of light filtering in though the panels that covered the only window of the room, like an indoor storm shutter. The wall was plain drywall over sheet metal, just enough to make a break-through impossible.

The lights came on and Amherst entered with his lackeys in tow. He was probably going to start the real show, Michael thought. Cameras and lights were brought in to be set up, confirming the thought, as did the smile on Amherst's face as he watched Michael look around at the things being unpacked.

"Tell me, Christiansen... What punishment would you use if you were going to execute someone for the cameras?"

Michael only glared at his tormentor for several moments as he decided on what to do. He had been willing to stay silent and simply take it, but it occurred to him that he had another weapon at his disposal, one that would make his refusal to scream even more potent.

"Well, I would have sat back and let their own conscience eat away at them, but since you're interested in an execution, I've always been partial to a firing squad or electric chair."

Ian smiled and picked up a baseball bat, swinging it one-handed and whacking Michael sharply across his left shin. Through sheer grit, Michael had managed to keep a straight face through the pain.

"Americans... Trying to be funny until the end. That blonde whore was the same way at first, even going so far as to insult my manhood. She found out exactly what I had when she choked herself unconscious on it. Stupid cunt." He swung the bat again and caught Michael across his arms that were secured across the back of the chair.

Michael counted his blessings that nothing was broken just yet, though he was sure his ribs had been cracked earlier. Another blessing was the subtle crack he had felt through the chair at the impact. Something was going to give eventually, though it hardly mattered if he was still surrounded.

"Your file was interesting, Christiansen. I especially like the winks and nods pointing to your involvement in the Prague terrorist incident. You had been shot up, were dying, yet your team went out and flayed a few of them for revenge."

He paused to consider it and Michael noticed a hint of a nostalgic smile on his face.

"You went through my file, obviously, so I'm sure you noticed the numerous blanks that resulted from my special ops work. One of those blanks was a quaint trip into the jungles of Myanmar back in 2000. You see, the government there had their bollocks in a twist over something or other and my SAS team was sent in for recon purposes, as a little look around to see what could be complained about to bring pressure against the fools in charge there. We stumbled on a Karenni village just after the government troops moved out, and you could imagine our horror at the scene there. Every male in the village had been flayed alive and their skins strung out across some strands of concertina wire for the animals to chew on. Even from a distance we could tell that a few had yet to die from their wounds."

Michael had heard something about there being trouble there, but the truth, as this no doubt was, had either been kept from the CIA or had been kept quiet. The Brits had obviously not used the information publicly, but the changes in the Myanmar government that had occurred were probably the result of someone being pulled aside and spoken to quietly.

"Yes, that was my first exposure to an honest to God flaying. I felt it grotesque at the time, perhaps even maddening, but now I'm kind of liking the idea of trying it." He rubbed his chin theatrically as he eyed Michael. "It's not that different from skinning a rabbit, really, and it would be somewhat fitting for you."

It wasn't a joke, Michael knew, and the sweat that he broke out into was entirely reflexive. It was one thing to be cut up, but to be skinned alive was going to be a bit much to take.

"Well, I can only hope that you screw it up like everything else you've done. One shouldn't use an unpracticed trick for a performance."

The bat cracked against his legs again, right on the same spot, and the pain was intense as the bruising spots from the earlier beatings were reminded that they should be hurting him on a constant basis.

"You're forgetting that I'm a natural. It won't take more than a few slices to figure out how to do it. It should be fun."

The cameras and lights were set and Amherst instructed his men to go get a table for the cutting to be done on.

"Phillip, you and Robbie get him off of the chair when they bring the table in."

"See, you're fucking it up already, Ian. You don't flay someone lying down. You string them up by their feet and pull down or you'll never get the head intact. Jesus, it's like I'm teaching a kindergarten or something." Michaels remark and smirk pushed Amherst's buttons, getting an unconstrained scowl and raised hand before he was able to adjust to the baiting.

"It doesn't really matter how I do it, Christiansen. I'm just searching for as many screams as I can get out of you. I doubt you'll be so cheerful after I start peeling."

The table had arrived and Michael's helpers took spots beside him as the cameras were started. Amherst took a spot in front of the camera and opened his mouth to begin his intro, but his phone rang, resulting in an annoyed look at his own forgetfulness.

Michael watched his enemy's eyes, his body and mind telling him that anything resembling an opening he could not afford to be missed. What he saw there was fear, though- a split heartbeat of fear that gave Michael a bit of hope.

Something was going to happen. He could feel it.

Jamie crawled silently through the weeds beside the road, carefully picking her way and quietly wishing the darkness would come quicker, so as to better cover her movements once she was in the open. She could see the two guards at the main gate, a chain-link fence on a sliding-rolling setup, and they were alert, but relaxed. They were in for a surprise...

She could see no patrols but the activity inside the main building was only average, meaning they weren't moving anything major through there at the moment. Anyone inside was likely to be involved with Michael's torment and that meant they were in one place.

It took a few minutes but she managed to find a spot where she could poke her thermal scope through the weeds and get an unobstructed view of the building, and sure enough there were a lot of people in one section that seemed comprised of a couple of large rooms with one smaller one on the outside wall. That was where they were keeping him if he was still alive.

"Steady on, Jamie. He's still alive."

She thanked the whispered thought as she slipped back into the brush, glad for the little things that kept her going.

The things she had to do would take time, but she had to go in with every asset she had. Her supplies were limited and her backup non-existent, so every bullet was precious.

She slipped a loaded magazine into her Walther and screwed the suppressor on, racking the slide and swapping the mag again for one that was topped off. Her pockets were loaded with everything she might need in a fury of her attack and everything else was now tossed carelessly around the inside of the car. She just couldn't envision a need for listening devices or lock picks at this point.

The sun had set, but the mercury-vapor lamps of the facility had not come on yet, giving her a precious few minutes to move unnoticed and in relative darkness. A guard lit a cigarette, his lighter effectively blinding him in the twilight as Jamie dashed to the side of the guard shack and jumped, planting a foot on the brick siding and pushing off, launching her into a cart-wheeled jump over the razor wire at the top of the fence. Her feet hit the ground and she rolled to absorb the impact, popping to her feet right next to a guard.

Her arm wrapped around his head, her hand on his mouth to silence him, and her right arm extended towards the other guard who was ten feet away, only now spinning around to see what the noise had been. The Walther coughed and the guard dropped as the nine-millimeter punched through his temple and out the other side, taking an important part of his brain with it.

"Two..." Jamie did not hear her own voice as she holstered the Walther and pulled her knife. The point slipped sideways between the man's ribs and through a lung, making the man scream into her quieting hand as his heart began to tear itself to shreds on the knife's point.

She could feel the heart beating against the knife and she closed her eye to savor the feeling of righteous satisfaction that washed over her. She nearly let the man slip from her hold, so powerful it had been, but the moment was soon over, as was the man's existence, and she let the lifeless body fall to the ground at her feet, his eyes locked in a look of pain.

"Three..." She consolidated their ammunition into a single one of their rifles and opened the gate, stooping momentarily to pick up one of their phones before running back to the Lotus that she had parked some ways down the road.

She parked the car in a tactically sound spot and climbed out, setting up the Beowulf on its bipod on the hood, sandwiched between her packs for stability. Her next move was to get the ball rolling.

She scrolled through the phone's memory and dialed the number she expected would be the one. It rang several times before it picked up and she somehow knew she had been exactly on-target.

"I want Michael Christiansen. Send him out alive and I'll let you walk away."

There was a long pause, a sign that she was catching him off-guard.

"_And if I refuse? What will you do then?_"

She started to think about telling him but then thought better.

"Yes or no?"

Amherst's face changed to one of amusement as he had spoken, a bad sign for Michael that was made worse when Amherst looked at him in an appraising way.

"No."

Whoever it had been hung up immediately, robbing Ian of the chance to goad them a bit further and making his anger flare up again.

"Get your weapons! It's the-"

A spray of plaster pelted several of the men and one fell to the floor, his left side a bloody wreckage caused by the three-hundred and twenty-five grain bullet as it had passed through, slightly expanded but barely slowed by the wall. A moment of panic ensued as more rounds were fired through the wall at chest level, the pounding crack of the Beowulf audible even over the yelling inside the room. Another man was hit in the leg and it nearly separated from his body, but he would not last a few minutes with the blood pouring from his artery.

Michael started laughing as his mind realized things that Amherst and his cronies could not know. He shifted his weight and fell on his side, a bullet whizzing past him in a shot that would have killed him had he not moved.

"He's fucking lost it!" A goon kicked the underside of the chair and Michael felt it give a little. He was almost free.

"Clearly you boys have no idea what you're dealing with."

Amherst had ducked behind the heavy table but had no illusions as to the lack of cover that provided. "It's the girl. Fuck, Robbie, I told you to finish her!"

"I emptied the rest of the clip into her! No way anyone can live through that at that range!"

A round smashed through the table right next to Robbie's head, putting the fear of God in him. Amherst wasn't a fazed, however, and motioned several men to the exit of the room to try to fight back from elsewhere.

"You don't get it! She's _programmed_ to protect me."

Amherst looked into Michael's eyes and saw a victorious glimmer, a glimmer that made him truly begin to fear the girl. Sometimes it only takes the thought of facing death to destroy the feeling of invulnerability.

"What?" Robbie wasn't nearly as smart, as were the others. What better way for Michael to stir them up a bit more than by telling the awful truth?

"If she knows I'm in here, and she's still firing blindly, then that means that she is no longer valuing my life. If she no longer values my life, then she has lost every ounce of sanity she might have had." He smiled at them- a smile of someone who was going to Hell in a crowd. "None of us are leaving this building alive."

As if to punctuate this, another round ripped through the wall and table, taking Robbie's arm off below the elbow. His scream of pain coincided with an end to the havoc from the Beowulf, making the whimpering of the man as he cradled his bleeding stump seem all the more real through the silence.

"Phil!"

Phillip rushed back in with an M4 rifle, trailed by a couple of others, and pulled the nearly destroyed shutter from the window. He cautiously peered out and around, trying to locate the aggressor.

"I can't see her."

"Then go out there and find her!"

Michael wanted a picture of the look Phil gave Amherst. Trust was so fragile when everyone was being hunted.

Phil kicked out several smashed sections of sheet metal and started to venture out, but jerked back inside and behind cover, leveling the rifle. "She's going to smash through! Open fire!"

The three rifles opened up on full-auto, ripping the thin-framed sports car to shreds in less than a few seconds. It drifted left and bogged its shredded tires down in the grass at the edge of the pavement, stopping it cold. There were a few breaths of relief but the rifles didn't waver any, showing Michael that at least some of these soldiers still had it in them.

Phil started to go out again, never taking his eyes off of the car that was only eighty feet away. The other two followed and closed in on it in a loose formation, and then Phil waved one forward to check it, his rifle locked on the driver's seat in case the girl had ducked down behind the dashboard.

The man swallowed hard and moved to only a few feet away, close enough to see the empty passenger compartment and the rigged steering and accelerator.

"She's not in here!"

"Four."

Jamie smiled wickedly and pressed the button on the detonator, watching the hapless man get fried by the flames that erupted from the Lotus as the makeshift bomb tore the once-beautiful car apart. The other two were far enough away to live with only some shrapnel wounds, but they would die in time. They would all die.

Phillip pulled his remaining man back to the wall and hid inside the building, watching the burning pyre from relative safety.

"Shit! What the fuck is she doing?"

"She's hunting you."

All eyes turned on Michael as he propped himself up against a wall, the remains of the broken chair still helping to bind his arms.

"She's coming for all of us. She's a machine, gentlemen... Literally a machine made of carbon composites and copper wires. What could be considered human was tenuous at best, and with her level of injury she has gone into a purely survival mode. At this point, everything that she has _ever_ identified as an enemy or threat is likely to be her target." Another smile. "You wonder what that is out there? She is Death incarnate."

He couldn't have scripted it better. Amherst and his men all looked out through the Swiss-cheesed wall at the flames that had spread with the leaking fuel tank. Through these flames stepped the Angel of Death, her remaining eye glowing red with the fires of Hell, her hands wielding the assault rifle she had taken from the guard.

"Oh shit..."

Amherst smacked Phil across the back of the head for the comment and backed away from the wall. "She's looking for a fight, we'll give her one! Load up in the armory and spread out through the building. Take any shot she gives you. If she's wounded, we can kill her. Phil!" He pointed a finger at Michael, and Michael could still see the fear in his eyes. "Kill him."

Suddenly Phil was alone with Michael in a shot-up room and with a murderous woman closing in on him. He leveled his rifle at Michael but caught sight of Jamie at the wall, staring straight at him with the soulless eye. He spun to fire at her but she was gone, ducking away before he could ever line up the sights.

Christiansen was on his feet beside him, having loosened his ropes enough. He tossed a length over Phil's head and spun, crossing the rope ends and choking him for a moment before hoisting him over his shoulder by the neck to the floor, and then using the stunning event to flip the rope around his neck again and draw the ends out, crushing the man's throat.

The choking gasps finally broke into the death rattle of a man and Michael realized that he had been clenching his teeth in anger as he had strangled him. It was the first time in as long as he could remember that his body had reacted as such while killing and it reminded him that things he had been holding in were going to have to come out. He was no stranger to life and death struggles, but everything he had ever feared was now going to try to kill him as persistently as the men with guns.

Something- everything- was going to try to stop him in this last battle... Such was the nature of the evil they fought. He was fighting against his own limits of the physical and mental forms. He was fighting to finish the evil that he had pledged his life against. To give in to death before the evil was destroyed meant failure.

"Five... Six..."

He spun and saw Jamie looking at the bodies on the floor. The one with the leg wound had bled out, as had the one with the chest wound. She was emotionless as she had said the words, but not robotic in tone. Jamie was a person who was killing without emotion, quite possibly the most efficient way to go about it.

Michael, however, was not a machine. His knees buckled and he sagged to the floor, powerless to move in the face of the relief that he felt.

"Jamie... Jesus Jamie, I thought I had lost you."

Her eye snapped to him but there was no real sign of familiarity in it. The look she gave him was just as cold as the corpses at their feet. She stepped over to him and knelt down to check the corpse of Phillip, then stood and fired a shot from her Walther through its head. "Seven..."

Michael watched her continue walking towards the door, oblivious to what he had said. Her body was tense and every muscle seemed ready to fire off at its full power to deal death out to those she chose. She was the huntress... And she was leaving him again.

"JAMIE!"

His scream had come from inside his heart, the part that he heard so often but refused to listen to. The desperation in his voice found a bit of humanity to latch onto and made her stop- shuddering slightly as she fought for the words to face him.

"Michael... You should leave now. There is no one in this building but the dead and those who are going to die. For what it's worth, I'm thankful that you saved me, and I don't hate you for making me what I have become."

Her head turned and she gave him a sad smile, one that spoke of the sadness that he would soon have to face.

Michael could see through it. She was saying goodbye.

"Damn it, Jamie, don't do this. We can walk away."

Jamie's voice was dark and bordering on the edge of sanity. Any stability left inside her head was devoted to the killing to come.

"I can't. I'm out of time. I can't afford to waste the single breath that I have left." She pulled his Smith&Wesson from her belt and tossed it to him along with a pair of magazines for it. "You should do what you feel is right, Michael. There are plenty of people in here that hurt Tanya, just as they hurt Carol and Angie. Kill them or don't, I really don't care what you do. Just don't get in my way. Amherst is mine."

She didn't give him time to respond. She knew that the more she talked, the less time she had and the more likely it was that she would lose her taste for blood. The pills helped, of course. Her body was almost numb from the last of the pills she had taken, making the pain seem so far away, and their effect should last long enough. Her senses hadn't suffered, though, and she had trouble understanding why until she realized that she was operating at the edge of human existence.

Many had spoken of their senses being finely honed as they went to what they felt was their death in battle, and that component of their fight-or-flight instinct made them more efficient and nearly impervious in ways that could not be trained into a person. Life and death- two sides of the same coin.

Some lived.

Some died.

So when your death was assured, how would you spend it? Whining and crying, submitting to the fear and the pain until you take your last breath? Janet had done that before and it had brought no satisfaction, no enlightenment, and no end.

Janet Wells would not make that mistake a second time.

Chapter 45: As Time Goes By

Michael's ribs hurt from his beatings. They weren't broken, at least he didn't think they were, but the pain from them slowed him down a little as he gathered up Phillip's rifle and vest. There were some pain pills in the one pocket and he downed them with a sip of water from a utility sink nearby. He may or may not live long enough for them to work, but they couldn't hurt.

His weapons were checked and made ready, and he asked himself for the last time what he was fighting for. Was it Jamie? Was it Tanya? Was it himself? He had to have a finish line to cross or he would fall short.

He closed his eyes and relaxed, deciding that he should let his heart decide what his life would be worth- what the people would completely fail to see as they wrote his elegy. It came to him with a surprising lack of effort. It made sense and was worth fighting for, and would drive him unto the end. Failure was not acceptable, and with Jamie causing havoc on her own, he had a chance of bringing it off.

There was silence in the halls as Janet stepped silently through them, carefully checking the doorways as she approached them and wishing that at least one of the enemy would show themselves and put up a fight. Her blood was boiling and her heart was racing. It had started the moment she had woken up and had become progressively harder and faster, and regardless of the agency's design specs for it, it had to be wearing out from pumping so hard for so long. Her spirit was rapidly burning away at both the physical and meta-physical ends.

"Heavenly Father... Please give me the strength and the time I need."

The words had just come out in a whispered voice, as if they were from the deepest part of her soul. In some way they comforted her, and they brought forth more words from inside her that gave her strength. They were lyrics and rhythms she had known long ago, had sung in the coffee shops, and had presented to others in such a beautiful form that one could not help but take them to heart.

The words cooled her blood a little, perhaps just enough to keep her alive, and she started to hum the music and sing the words softly to herself as her ears and eye scanned everything around her.

"_Help me, teach me, change me Lord,_

_Arm me with your shield and sword._

_Bless me with Your Word of Truth,_

_Unto me Your Living Proof."_

She heard a rifle trigger start to move and spun out of the doorway she was in front of, wincing as the pounding of the automatic fire temporarily deafened her. The muzzle followed her out of the doorway and she was ready for it, forcing the rifle towards the ceiling and driving the butt of her rifle into the man's face with her elbow. He was off balance and she spun, letting go of the barrel and drawing her Springfield from the horizontal holster on the back of her belt. Even her left hand was working well tonight and her finger brushed the safety off a hair before the trigger broke and sent the scum into the afterlife. It had been so fast, less than a few seconds between life and death, and she hadn't even started breathing hard.

Her ears were still ringing so she did not hear the footsteps behind her as she relieved the corpse of its weapons. There was a change in the air around her and she dove to the side, rolling as her attacker fired his pistol at her, missing, but only just. Her eye locked onto the hatred in the face of the man called Robbie. He was bleeding profusely from his carelessly bandaged arm and his left hand shook with the stress the wound put on his body, making Jamie realize that her luck had not yet run out.

His gun was empty now. The stress and the hatred made him stare at her across the sights, motionless but for his heavy breathing. Janet stood, tucking her pistol away and stepping closer, putting her chest against the smoking muzzle of the AMT Javelina, impressed that the man could control the ten-millimeter with just his single hand.

"I know those eyes... They were on the other side of the sub-machine gun that shot me."

She pushed closer and Robbie started to back-pedal, stopping against the wall, the gun jabbing him painfully in the chest and feeling overpowered by the fear induced within him at the way the girl was staring at him.

"I'm still alive. You failed to kill me, but you took my eye." A wicked smile formed as she listened to the voice inside her. " 'Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot'. And given the other things you've done to me, I think it's only fair."

Her arm swung and drove her knife though his eye socket and into his brain. It was a mercifully quick death given his crimes against her, but she did not have the time to make them feel what she and so many others had. There were more out there, waiting for her.

A quick swipe cleaned the knife on Robbie's shirt before it went back in its sheath. The hunt wasn't close to being over. Not by a long shot.

Michael heard commands from the end of the hall, a leader mustering the troops in order to overwhelm Jamie. It hurt like hell with his bruised bones, but Michael crept silently along in a crouch with one eye locked on his front sight and the other watching for any sign of movement.

A head leaned out of a doorway further down and he snapped off a shot, crisp and clean as a springtime mountain river, or so his mind waxed poetically in that instant. The body fell to the floor in the doorway and a few breaths later another one peered out, nearly receiving a similar fate. The target ducked back, just in time, and then started spraying around the corner with an MP5 on full-auto.

Michael ducked into an open door to wait out the fusillade, his mind beginning to wander even as his body kept tabs on everything of its own accord. He could feel it- the same as he had in Prague four years earlier.

Death was all around him. It had filled the building like an evil, toxic gas, yet somehow he felt warmed by it, perhaps even aroused instinctually, right down to his primordial roots. It calmed him in a way that was so dissimilar from his usual worries in a firefight. He felt untouchable.

On continued reflection, somewhere in the second thirty-round magazine being sprayed down the hallway, he started to wonder whether the pills had been laced by their previous owner for some reason.

"Two... One... Jam."

He spun around the corner like his gut told him to, rushing as hard as he could towards the sub-machine gun that had, in fact, jammed just when Fate had told him it would. The gun had been pulled back into the door to be cleared and Michael heard the bolt clack shut and readied himself, diving past the open door and turning, firing rapidly as the gunman came into view and catching him with several rounds to the chest.

Michael's short flight ended on the other side of the doorway, smacking hard on the floor and rolling into a crouched position. He was facing the last of the enemy, the leader of their squad, who had moved fast in order to take advantage of what he thought would be an easy mark. Their eyes met across the other's gun sights for an instant; fractions of a second that Michael could almost count, so fast his mind was working. He never hesitated in firing, though, and the man went down from the headshot, a forty-caliber ticket to the next existence.

It had been several surreal moments, and as he stepped into the room to check the bodies and gather a few more weapons, he started to react to the physical results of such stress. The intense watering that suddenly started in his mouth was only a second's worth of warning before the heaving of his stomach, upset at the physical demand and nervousness that his mind had set aside.

As he prayed over a convenient office trash can, he remembered that moment in Prague just before he entered the final room, when his body had done the same thing. He had reflected later, in the hospital, that it had been his instincts telling him that the next step would be the one that mattered, and would be the riskiest. Death was likely, and like a fool he had ignored the warning and kept going.

Spitting the last of the taste from his mouth, he understood what a crock that line of thinking had been. Instincts were fine and all, but they weren't prophecy. His body was only reacting to stimuli, nothing more, and while he had the power to push past it, there were limits to everything. Even his body would fail, just like in Prague, if pushed hard enough.

Michael chose his pick of the weapons carefully, steeling himself for the struggle to come and knowing that if he had any hope of survival, he had to fight as hard as Jamie. He had to make it a race to see who got to Amherst first. It was the only way to meet his full potential.

He slipped the sling of the MP5 over his head, his wounded shoulder protesting but less loudly than before, thanks to the medicine. He was down to twenty rounds for his Smith, fifteen of which he consolidated into one magazine, leaving the other five for backup, should he need them. Chances were pretty good that he would, and soon. A single grenade was there as well, and Michael hesitated in picking it up at first, but it went onto his belt anyway in spite of the recent experiences with them still fresh in his mind. This was no time to be giving in to fear.

The hall was still quiet, but somewhere in the building he could hear rifle fire. Jamie was on the loose and wreaking havoc for all she was worth, drawing everyone towards her. Amherst would be around somewhere. He had no place to back down to.

Michael steeled himself and stepped into the hallway.

Janet paused behind a large machine in a shop room, switching her magazine and quickly thumbing the rounds from a nearly empty one into a half-full one. She could hear footsteps on the stairs at the far end of the long hallway she had just passed through- a group of pursuers that had been attracted by the bullet-filled deaths of three of their comrades. They might think they were hunting her but they were still on the defensive, being led by her into whatever trap she decided to spring.

Her housekeeping was complete and she closed her eye, breathing as deep as she could to settle her nerves, and listening carefully to the sounds of the men. Her body was beginning to lose steam and the pause was necessary to catch her breath, but the bloodlust was fading. She had to find Amherst soon or she would be too weak to fight.

Two guards stepped into the room and split up, clearing it from each side as they advanced in the near-darkness. The light from the hall made the shadows deeper and more sinister, or maybe it was their target. Regardless, the halting, cautious steps gave Janet plenty of time to plan her moves, and she waited until the man nearest her was mere feet away.

The guards both swung to the left to face the clatter of the magazine Jamie had tossed there, opening them up to her attack. She spun around the machine and lunged at the man, her hand lining up the glowing Tritium sights on her Walther and squeezing off two rounds into the man's head at point-blank range. Her right arm extended and triggered a long burst from her rifle at the other one, the flash lighting up the room in a strobe effect that only ended when the man had fallen to the floor dead.

There was more movement at the end of the hall and the beam of a tactical light captured her in the open. The rounds that followed it narrowly missed their target as she dove into the room and rolled, tossing a grenade into the hallway before scrambling to her feet again and lunging through the other door from the room. The grenade detonated, shaking the walls and floor, and bits of shrapnel bounced around the machine room she had just been in. With any luck, that had slowed the men down some.

Janet did not wait to catch her breath again. She started working her way through the rooms and halls, heading towards the place her instincts were telling her Amherst was hiding.

The grenade sent a message though the entirety of the building: That the game of death had been taken to a new level. Everyone inside now knew what was really at stake.

Michael was glad for that. The few inside the building who were determined to live were going to be shaken, a precious bit of advantage against them. He could only hope that they wouldn't put up as much of a fight as the others he had run into.

He entered a larger room that was surrounded on the edges with catwalks and stairs, and a large open area in the middle that stretched several floors. A chain hoist was in the middle well alongside the cable hoist for a machine. Michael stepped to the railing and peered at the bottom that was three floors down.

His right eye caught movement in its periphery and he spun away from it, lunging to the side and gasping as the machete's edge caught him on the shoulder instead of the throat as was intended. Michael quickly recovered and shifted his stance to meet the physical threat with the frame of his rifle, deflecting the blade into the strap. The razor-sharp edge slipped through it and it came free, whipping around as the enemy kicked Michael in the stomach and knocked him backwards against the stairway's rail.

The blade swung again, sparking against the steel railing as Michael shifted away and barely avoided the strike. His mind wasn't able to react quickly enough to the attacks and his body started to react instinctively, lunging forward towards the attacker, swinging the rifle at the end of the sling ahead of him to deflect the next slice of the blade.

The rifle nearly caught the enemy on the head, but quick reflexes saved him as he leaned backwards and felt the muzzle of the gun brush his nose as it passed. He back-pedaled, trying to recover his balance as Michael closed in to grab his shirt with his right hand, and launched a palm-strike with his left, the blow hitting quickly and at the same time as the discarded rifle hit the floor.

Michael's momentum carried them both to the railing of the center well, slamming into it and sending a metallic rattle through the room. A knee to the groin took the remaining fight from his enemy and Michael lifted him up and over the rail, and then watched in a detached way as the man fell to the bottom and landed in a heap.

A searing pain hit him and he felt his chest, finding a small D-handled knife stuck in his side, apparently an unnoticed strike as he had lifted the man in his adrenaline-induced fury. It was getting tougher to catch his breath, the number of gasps rising at an alarming rate and signaling a serious injury, perhaps a lung hit.

"Ah! Shit!"

Another spike of pain swept through him as he had drawn his pistol, causing him to hunch slightly over and take carefully metered steps towards the stairway leading upwards. Leaving the knife in was the best way to slow his bleeding, but each step only worked it around in his side and caused more injury and pain. He had to stop and take care of it if he was going to move any further.

A crate was convenient for a rest and sitting down helped Michael gather the strength and courage to yank the knife out, suppressing a yell of pain as the barbed edges tore more flesh on their way out. His right hand was shaking uncontrollably from the pain and took several flexes to settle down enough to stuff a bandage into the wound and tape it. It would slow the bleeding but not stop it internally. Untreated, death was certain, but he only needed enough time to finish his task.

"It's useless, you know."

Michael snapped around to face the man who spoke, his mind automatically taking note of the rifle in his hands. He had snuck up on Michael while he had been focusing on controlling the pain and had, for some reason, decided to hold his fire this long.

"Yeah. But if I'm going to die here, I'm going to fight unto the end." His left hand gripped the Smith, but he had to focus a little harder to make sure his point-shot was going to go where he wanted.

"I prefer the sport of shooting armed men to the unarmed." The rifle lifted, taking aim at his head. "Whenever you're ready."

"That's very generous." Michael had little hope of actually winning this one. He had to turn nearly all of the way around to even bring his weapon to bear, seconds too long to avoid the head shot from the rifle. Moving off the axis would help, but at that range it was only a minor correction from the rifle to kill him.

He turned his face away, determining to spin to his left and rapid fire the pistol from a retention position, making for the most error in shot placement but removing the time needed to extend his arm for an aim. It was just going to be a hope and prayer type of move. He took a few breaths and steeled himself, his opponent being sporting enough to ignore the tensing of Michael's body and wait until he actually moved.

An object streaked past the level they were on in the central well, from top to bottom, and Michael felt two bullets whiz past him to strike the man, the body thumping to the concrete floor, dead before he hit. It had been so fast, an impossible shot.

He stood and made his way to the well, looking down in time to catch a glimpse of Jamie loosening the chain from her legs and drop to the floor. She casually glanced up to check on him but never gave a second look as she darted out of sight towards the opposite stairway, her boots pounding on the steps as she sprinted up them as fast as she could safely manage. Michael caught a glimpse of her technique and was proud that she was using everything he had taught her, even in the torn up and carefree condition she was operating in. She really was pulling all of the stops to get Amherst in her sights, using everything she knew and trained for.

The rifle was ready to go on a full magazine and was now Michael's last chance. Getting to Amherst was now the goal. He couldn't possibly beat Jamie to him in his current condition, but he could be there to make sure she got her chance at revenge.

Janet shrugged off the exhilaration from her makeshift bungee jump to save Michael and poured her strength into her legs, making up for the time she had just lost doing what she had said she would not. Amherst had gone up to the top level and was now waiting for her- his smirk at her from a floor above had stated his expectation. They would have it out, if only she would face him.

Michael was also making his way up, she saw from the other end of the room, but he was slowed by his injuries and probably would be lucky to make it to the top level at all. She knew he was trying, but could not count on his help.

No, this was hers and hers alone.

The top level came into view and her caution slowed her, aiming carefully while scanning around her with all her still-working senses. The top step was a little loose, she noticed, but it didn't matter and was only a distraction to be discarded in her information processing. The real target was there somewhere, and she found him as she mounted the last step, curious about his relaxed manner in the face of someone intending to annihilate him.

"I've been waiting, little girl." He lit a cigar and puffed pensively, even as the revolver in his hand was aimed at her with his arm across his chest.

"Believe me, so have I. I've been waiting for a long time to see you again."

He blinked in curiosity rather than surprise. "Oh?"

Janet smiled wickedly, a gleam in her eye at having finally come face to face with her nemesis and knowing that he would be dead at her hands, even if it destroyed herself in the process.

"Oh yes. You and I have unfinished business."

Amherst smiled a little, perhaps feeling satisfaction at his importance to her. "It's nice to be wanted."

Janet stepped to the side, moving to make his shot harder in a manner that would not be obviously so directed. His eyes never left hers and she had to figure that he was trying to read her as Michael always did and was having trouble.

"Oh, you're wanted all right."

"Forgive me for the lack of courtesy, but I seem to have forgotten your name."

"My name is Janet... Janet Wells."

The butcher smiled again after a moment's recollection, his memory serving him well once jogged. "Ah yes... Janet. Your face is different now, but I can see you behind it. I still remember that night and the shrill cries of your friends as I cut them."

The measured goad had its effect, Janet's face turning beet red in spite of her condition. Amherst adjusted his position to keep his gun ready for her, making sure he gave her no clear advantage that she could exploit.

"I'm surprised an animal like you bothered to memorize it."

"It's hard to forget making a masterpiece. You were a star."

Janet realized her position and settled her hot temper, refusing to give him another advantage over her. "I'm in a different line of work now. I'm just a courier today."

"Hm?"

His confused look was met with another smile from the woman, the game switching sides with her words.

"I have a message for you. 'You are wicked in my eyes, and now My wrath shall descend upon you. May your sins be your fate and lead you unto your eternal damnation. So sayeth the Lord'."

Janet lunged off her spot and swung the rifle up, triggering off a volley as Amherst also moved to avoid, the bullets peppering the crate next to him and sending splinters into the air around him. His gun came up and the cannon-like report boomed through the building.

Janet felt the bullet pass very near her head as it ripped through the steel wall she had ducked behind. The power of the 460 S&W Magnum cartridge was intimidating, and even through her earplugs it was deafening. The sound pounded her head like a sledge and it took a full second for her to recover when Amherst stopped to reload, swinging the assault rifle around the wall and emptying the magazine into the area before moving again to avoid the deadly return fire.

"You can't win, little girl!" Amherst's yell came after the first return shot, his voice showing the strain he had in trying to hear himself amid the din. "I fucked your friends! I fucked you! I fucked that blonde bitch! And I fucked your agency! You were powerless to stop any of it!"

Janet hid behind a crate and hoped that he hadn't seen her move there. The wood was no help to her as cover, and she needed time to recover her depleted strength. Her breaths were ragged with her exertion, the pain in her chest searing even over the drugs, and a stifled cough into her fist showed traces of blood. The voice inside her spoke of diminished time, a warning about the impending end that she could not afford to meet before her mission was finished.

"I'm going to kill you again, you little cunt! And I'll go on killing others, just to see them bleed!"

Her eyes shut tight and focused past the pain, willing it to the back of her mind's concerns.

"SHOW YOURSELF!"

Janet spun around the crate, drawing her Springfield and leveling the sights onto Amherst's head, the post steady in the rear notch as if it was frozen there in her grip.

Amherst had her pegged, his sights already on her, and she watched the cylinder click into place as the hammer began to fall. She had a brief sight of the gun firing before the bullet slammed into her Springfield, shearing the slide from the frame and sending into her forehead, dazing her even as she spun to take the hit and try to recover. It took every ounce of control she had left to draw her Walther with her right hand and bring it up, firing rapidly through her splotchy vision at the doubled image of Amherst. A round struck home and he moved, spoiling his aim on her and resulting with a three-hundred grain projectile through her left lung, the shock of the impact knocking her flat on her back.

Silence reclaimed the space for a short time as the pair slowly came to their senses. Amherst was bleeding from a shot to his lower abdomen, Janet from a through-and-through in her chest. Somehow, both managed to get to their feet, though Janet coughed hard, the blood and pink froth splattering on the floor.

"Now..." His gun came up again, though decidedly less assured. "Now you die."

Janet's arm wouldn't move. The gun was still being held tight, but something was preventing the actuators from moving it into firing position. She looked at Amherst, determined to face him better than she had before: defiant and determined until the last.

A short burst of rifle fire sounded and Amherst jerked to his left, spun, and fired a shot at Michael who had finally made it to the top of the stairs. Michael was knocked backwards down the stairs from the bullet he took, too exhausted and injured to even try dodging.

"No!" Janet's heart screamed, even as the word came out as a whimper. Her knees buckled and she went down, her loss of control reminding her of where her heart needed to focus- on the task at hand.

Ian Amherst started laughing, his cackle broken only by a bloody cough. He rolled over and glared at her, and then brought the gun back to aim at her, despite lying on the ground.

"I'll finish you, bitch!"

Jamie rolled over and struggled to her knees, and then shakily to her feet. She wasn't going to die like a dog again! Not to mention that she had to finish the man before her life ended, and that meant getting to him.

"Yea..."

The gun fired and Janet's body went numb, the bullet lodging in her spine after passing through her liver. It was only the fact that her body had mechanical compensators that allowed her to continue staggering towards her target.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."

The gun sounded again and she fell, only ten feet away, with her hip smashed by the impact of the round. Her body felt nothing but a burning surge of energy, her arms more than strong enough to pull her closer to him.

"For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

The last shot of the revolver fired, tearing into her chest at an angle and running down along it, missing her heart but opening up the cavity on it's way through. It exploded out her back in a bloody spray but did not faze her in the least, as her eyes were looking beyond herself now.

Amherst could not move away, as Christiansen's burst had impacted his spine and made his legs useless. His own body was failing him as the pain and shock began to take hold. He was frozen in place as Janet grabbed his shirt and pulled herself to within inches of his face, the blood from her lips dripping on his face as she looked at him with curiosity. It was as if she was not entirely sure that what she was looking at was real.

"Are you afraid, Ian Amherst? Do you feel like there's no possible hope for you?"

His eyes told her. The eyes are the windows to the soul, as Michael liked to say, and she could see this man's soul. It was a scummy, pathetic, and fearful thing now.

"You're going to die." Her voice came in whispers, as if telling a secret. "Your life will end in pain and suffering. The last thing you will see is my face, gazing down at you."

She reached back and drew her knife, resting the point against the man's throat, the angle sure to not just cut it but also drive deep enough to hit the brain if she so desired.

"If you beg, I will kill you quickly. Beg me like the dog you are, or I'll make the pain last as long as I can."

Amherst knew fear now, she could see. The words she had chosen were the same he had spoken to her on that dark, God-forsaken night in Paris. They were words she had never really forgotten, even as a cyborg named Jamie, and they were the justice she had longed to unleash upon him from the moment she had gained new life.

Whatever his soldier credentials, he had long since lost them when his heart had changed. The coward within him spoke up, fearing the eyes of the creature before him.

"P-Please... Please end it quick."

Whether he realized it or not, he had used her own words as his response, so it was only fitting to finalize this flashback to memory lane by ending it the same way.

Janet Wells leaned down and whispered in his ear.

"No."

The knife slipped into his throat and no farther, his screams cut off by the blade's broadside blocking them. Instead, a whistling gurgle seeped from around it and the blood sprayed slightly as she held the blade in place and started into his eyes.

The last memory of Ian Amherst was of the girl staring down at him with a sadistic smile, the same smile he had given her.

Janet sagged to the floor and managed to roll over to look at the huge skylight, the night having claimed the last vestiges of the light that had marked her last day on this earth. She had missed it.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

Michael dragged himself to his feet with his good arm, his other entirely useless from the bullet-smashed shoulder, though he could only feel a portion of the pain. Either the shock or the damage had blocked the feeling from it and it was only a considerable nuisance as he struggled up the stairs once again.

A thumping sound blasted the building and a detached (and less hard-working) portion of his brain told him it was the agency helicopters arriving. Somehow, he knew they would not be in time.

Jamie was there, leaning over Amherst as he shuddered his last moments of life, and once she was sure he was dead, fell over and was still.

"Jamie..."

Michael stumbled forward as best he could, eventually falling next to her as his strength gave out. She was still breathing, and it was the last bit of time he had left.

He brushed the hair from her face, a touch that brought a smile to her bloody lips

"Jamie... Jamie, I love you."

"I love you too, Michael.

"I'm sorry I never told you."

"Mm..." Her eye opened a little and looked at him. "I never doubted it, because I love you too."

Somehow he managed to pull her to him, his face against hers and a gentle kiss on her cheek. His body was failing fast from shock.

"Reach in my pocket if you can."

It was slow, but she managed to get her hand into his pocket and felt something there. She pulled it out but could not move any further.

"What is it?"

"Our toll for the ferryman." The River Styx was wide. They were going together and tradition said they would need a guide. "Death and taxes are eternal."

"Is _that_ what that was." She now understood why he had placed the coin on the body of that Carabinieri woman.

"It can't hurt, huh?"

They were both silent after that. Somewhere in the building the agency was looking for them, but the only sounds he could hear were of their breathing, both growing weaker and more ragged as time went on. It was taking it's time and he hated waiting in silence, but neither had any more to say.

"Mama?"

Jamie's voice broke the silence, but just barely with as weak as it was.

"Jamie?"

"I can see them, Michael. My mom and dad, Angie and Carol... it's a party for me. I want you to meet them."

"You go on ahead, Jamie... I won't be long behind."

He sensed, rather than felt, her body relax. She was still, and the blurring of his vision told him he was not long behind her, as he had said.

It was a funny thing, he had to admit: It was her birthday today.

"Happy birthday, Jamie."

He must have blacked out for a short time because the next thing he knew, he was looking at a young girl, smiling cheerfully as she stepped to Ian Amherst and plucked his soul out, scattering it to the winds with a gentle blow from her lips. She leaned over and brushed a hand over Jamie, pausing for a moment in confusion as the soul came out and split briefly into two before merging once again. This one went into the flower basket she held. Her hand reached for Michael, and he had never known such comforting warmth in his life.


	23. Chapter 46 Epilogue

Chapter 46: Epilogue

The face of the little girl...

An image can sear itself into the brain, stuck there forever, or at least until the viewer passes on. In the end, it's how a person's life is related to others that determines their fate on this Earth. Good person or bad person, it's how they are remembered that matters.

Jamie's face flashed before Michael's eyes, only it was the Janet/Jamie. Jamie's slightly different face on Janet Wells' body, sitting at the corner table in the outdoor Paris cafe, flanked on either side by her friends Angie and Carol. The sight warmed him, especially as he caught her eye, the familiar smile directed at him as she had so many times. She would always be the warm, friendly, and devoted person consistent to both of her personas. That is the only way he could see her now.

Michael Christiansen opened his eyes slowly, feeling the lingering affects of premium painkillers and wishing more than anything for a drink of water. His body felt weak, as if he had not moved in ages, and the immobilization of his arm via a cast over most of his chest brought back memories of his time in Germany.

His mind cleared and the realization of events hit him like a slice of lemon wrapped around a gold brick. He had almost died, once again, and had survived, once again. Only Jamie had not. The pain was familiar and even more unbearable than the last time with Tanya.

"Oh, God... Why? Why don't you fucking take me already? I'm here! I deserve it!" His eyes welled up with tears, tears he could let flow now without any personal shame. He'd earned that courtesy at least.

"It should have been me as well." Hadn't he paid enough yet? That damned Oarsman and his toll. Fucking tight-wad...

" 'Exact change only'? 'Fuel Surcharge?' What the hell does it take to die anymore..."

The door to the hall opened and Priscilla stuck her head in, trying to smile warmly without seeming too perky.

"Sounds like you're awake. I'd know that complaining anywhere."

"Hm." Michael wasn't sure he wanted to see her, or anyone for that matter.

"Thirsty?"

She poured a glass of water and let him drink it through a straw, taking care of one minor misery. "You're looking better than when they brought you in. No one thought you would make it."

"When was that?"

"About two weeks ago. You've been in and out since then, but none of it was coherent. It seemed like nightmares or something, really." Her soft hand brushed some hair from his forehead and the touch made him wince from the pain in his heart at the familiar gesture.

"What's happened since then?"

A frown was there on her face, the remnants of a lot of grieving and pain. "A lot. Most of it isn't something you need to know right now. There's plenty that involves you directly."

Michael wasn't surprised. "Such as?"

"Jamie is dead. She died in your arms, and in spite of the attempts to repair her there really wasn't anything they could do."

"It was her time. She had finished what she was given life for, and she earned the right to go home." The tears started again as he spoke, running down his cheek as he continued to think about those moments in time. "She told me that she could see her parents and friends. She was so beautiful... Her smile..."

"The place has been emptier without her. Maria has barely moved from their room since then. Mario keeps taking her food and trying to help her, but she's hurting too much. The girls have all lost a lot of friends." There were signs, though, that Maria was starting to come around, and that was a good thing.

"Tell her that I want to see her. That should get her moving at least." Michael had to help Jamie's friends. It was his job as her family. He wiped his eyes dry and settled down to hear the rest. "What else is there?"

"Petris wants you strung up for your actions. Destruction of a building in Milan and seriously disrupting freight movement through there. Wanton disregard for public safety. Disregarding direct orders to return to Rome... And then there's Jamie... police found a body of a man whom she killed and stole a car from. They're looking at you for your failure to control her."

"I was a bit tied up at that moment, I'm sure. Jamie was acting beyond even my control towards the end. There was nothing I could do to stop her."

Priscilla pulled a chair closer and sat down, holding his hand in a friendly way. "I know. Belisario told me about her phone call. He and Bergonzi were discussing her data when I popped in a little while ago. Her data recorder took a hit as she was fighting, but what they got from it told them enough. Janet Wells was the person killing her way to Amherst, not Jamie."

"No, that's not entirely true. They were both there. Janet was whole again, but it was because Jamie made her complete." He could see that it really did not make any sense to Priscilla, and really very little to himself. "Things got pretty confusing there at the end."

"I bet." There was a trace of a smile on her lips, enough so that Michael gave her a questioning look for it. "Still... What you did was amazing. I've talked to some friends in Europol and they've said that the heat that came down on Excalibur sent ripples through the industry, and that several more informants have come forward about other companies like them, looking for the authorities to hit them hard like Ex Co. Suspected linked abductions are down for the first time in forever, and it's because they're afraid someone is actually going to come down on them for once."

Michael tried to digest that, rearranging it in his head to make it fit with the enormity of Jamie's and Tanya's sacrifices.

"That's... That's good to hear, I guess. To be honest, I don't really know if even that was worth it."

"I can understand that." Priscilla nodded, knowing the shock he must still be feeling.

"In any case, at least she they died for _something_. I know Jamie would have wanted it that way."

Several minutes of silence ensued, a broken and battered man with a good friend, taking time to reflect and comprehend events that were largely beyond their control. Michael rubbed his eyes with his movable left hand, happy for that at least.

"Okay, Priscilla. Hand me my chart. I need to see how bad this is."

"You sure you're up for it?" She pulled the chart from beside the door and held it while he flipped through the pages, reading quickly in spite of the drowsiness he still felt lingering in his head.

"Hmm... Collapsed lung, cracked ribs, multiple lacerations with two serious resulting in heavy blood loss, gunshot to right shoulder with associated breakages of bones, and a fractured ankle. I think I'm getting better at the entire lone-wolf assault game."

His sense of humor seemed to be returning and Priscilla could only identify that as a good sign for his recovery. Unfortunately, his future wasn't looking too good at this point. Someone was going to take the fall for his actions and Lorenzo was going to make sure it was Michael.

"Listen..." She could not think of a way of warning him that would be less than obvious to the microphones she knew were listening. They were taking no chances with Christiansen. "If- if there's anything I can do..."

Michael read her discomfort, his mind already warming up to the situation and possibilities.

"Stop by tomorrow. I'm sure I'll think of something I need."

"Okay. I'll bring you something to eat as well. I know how bad the food is here."

He smiled at her, genuinely warmed by her efforts. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

Priscilla left and a nurse entered to tend to his needs with the cold air of a winter storm. It was going to be a long recovery.

Chief Lorenzo stepped from Maria Petris' office and paused to look at the folder in his hand, the twelve count indictment of one Michael Christiansen. Regardless of how quiet it was going to be kept, it made Lorenzo look very bad, perhaps worse than anything else that had happened so far. Keeping the Else de Sica incident under wraps was easy compared to this.

"Damn him..."

Ferro stepped beside him and added another file on top- the police investigation into Raimondo Moretti's death. "That's all of it. The prosecutor is requesting a few more credits for terrorist captures. That's cheap at the price."

"Christiansen has cost us a lot in this cover-up. I'm still deciding what will be a fitting punishment."

"What did the Secretary have to say?" She fell in alongside him as they walked through the ministry building, shoes clacking on the polished marble floors.

"That he is my responsibility. She's already started moving the misinformation to the public. The warehouse was a terrorist attack on the Milan rail system for whatever reason, and the chase through the streets was Camorra in-fighting. Nothing to see here."

Ferro's mind wandered to Michael, feeling some concern for him now that things were going squarely on his shoulders. It had only been two weeks since he had awoken from his coma. They were acting fast. "And Michael?"

Lorenzo just continued to stare straight ahead as they walked, his face impassive as he replied, "you need not be concerned with Christiansen's fate. I'll handle the details myself."

The last time Ferro had heard that statement was just before Captain Raballo's accident. The eeriness of the memory was probably why the chill swept through her body.

At least she hoped that was why.

Jean was called into Lorenzo's office the moment they returned to the agency, the door locked, and it stayed that way for several hours, placing Ferro on the defensive paperwork-wise. When Jean finally emerged, his face betrayed nothing at all; a state that she had learned meant serious business.

Ferro blinked, wondering when it was that she had become so concerned about Michael's safety. She had to admit that he had a way of getting under a person's skin. Whether it was annoying or endearing, he made an impression on everyone he met, and that impression was lasting.

"Ferro."

She blinked out of her thoughtful daze to find Jean standing there, perhaps concerned since his words to her had just been entirely ignored.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was just thinking about the current situation."

"Hm. Please go over to the medical center and tell Christiansen's doctor that we're transferring him to a city hospital. Here are the details."

Ferro accepted the pages and watched him walk away, feeling entirely out of sorts from her normal self. She was supposed to be beyond emotionalism. She had to be, as it was the only way to succeed in her job. They valued her for her cold, calculating grasp on every situation, under every circumstance.

Ferro had been almost everything possible for an intelligence specialist and coordinator. She had killed people, in hot blood and cold. She had planned out orchestrated campaigns against factions, the depths of which had never been fully realized. There was even a stint as a 'service' maid in order to get the info that she needed from a Camorra kingpin, a disgusting act she had never fully been able to forget.

Never, not once, had she ever felt like a patsy: an expendable individual tasked with a dirty and unwholesome task.

Until now.

A glance at the paper showed an exact time that Michael was to be taken from the med-center, and the exact route the _specified_ drivers were to take. Every detail was meticulously thought out, and there was no doubt that Michael was to get where he was going on time.

"Another traffic accident..."

The whispered words resonated in her head like a gong as she crossed the compound. Something was going to happen to Michael Christiansen before he arrived in the city. It wasn't very original, but it _was_ clean and efficient. After all, accidents happen all of the time.

The papers were delivered to the doctor, but Ferro paused in the hall, thinking about whether to warn him about it. She wasn't sure exactly what he could do on his own, and certainly everyone who communicated with him was being watched carefully by this time. Jean never did anything in half measures.

"Ferro!"

Priscilla coming down the hall from the entryway carrying a fast-food bag and handful of movies halted Ferro's step towards Michael's room.

"Priscilla. Are those for Michael?"

"Yes." She smiled warmly; something Ferro had seen almost none of from anyone in recent weeks. "The food here is terrible and every now and then I sneak some to him. He's bored, too, so I thought I would grab a few movies for him."

"I see."

For a long moment, Priscilla thought that Ferro was going to squash the idea. Security had been increased around Michael quietly rather than noticeably, but it was there. Even he could feel it.

Ferro took the bag and glanced inside, then took a few fries for herself before handing it back, surprising Priscilla with her forwardness.

"What? I'm hungry too." She walked off towards the building entrance, canceling her plans to see Michael. It was entirely out of her hands.

The doctor stepped quietly into Christiansen's room and pulled the sedative syringe from his pocket, steeling himself for another distasteful task. Being of dubious moral integrity, he was the one the agency called on to deliver truth serums to prisoners, as well as keep them alive after particularly harsh interrogations. Civilized intelligence service, to be sure.

The monitor was beeping quietly and slowly in the early morning darkness, meaning that the target was asleep. He'd stay that way until he arrived at where he was going.

The bed curtain parted quietly and the doctor peeked through to make sure everything was quiet, but stopped, stunned, as he looked at the empty bed. There was a device attached to the machine, evidently bypassing the alarms that would sound when the patient was unplugged. Other than that, there was no sign of Michael Christiansen.

The doctor went immediately to the nurse's station, getting her attention with only the urgency in his face.

"Is something wrong, Doctor?"

"Christiansen is gone. Where is he?"

The nurse frowned, unsure what was going on but knowing she was in the middle of it. "Another nurse came by a couple hours ago and took him to Radiology. Here's the note from Doctor Romani." She pulled the paper from the file and handed it over.

A glance told him that it was fake: Doctor Romani was left-handed while this was obviously written by a right-handed person. "When did she bring him back?"

"I didn't see them, but the monitor came back on a half-hour or so later. I was making rounds at the far end."

"I see..."

It was half past three A. M., but he made the call anyway, dialing Jean Croce's cellular phone and knowing that he wasn't going to be happy.

"It's Gerstweller... There's been a complication."

"And he just disappeared?"

Lorenzo could not believe what he was hearing, but remaining calm about it was the sensible thing to do. They would get Christiansen. He could not have gone far in his condition.

Jean was not as easy-going about the matter. Lorenzo could sense a considerable amount of anger being suppressed, which meant that the security breach was being taken personally.

"He had assistance, beyond what his limited physical condition would allow. The security was remotely hacked and the video looped to cover their movements outside of the hospital. Technical is working on how it was done, but it's looking like someone infiltrated the compound and disabled it from inside. The only clue we have on his leaving is a food service van that entered and left the compound on schedule. The driver was a woman and matched the description of the person we have on file, and her I.D. card was verified. Still, I can't think of any other way he could have escaped in such a short time. It was only an hour before his being wheeled out that the duty nurse checked on him."

"Three hours at most." Lorenzo had a feeling something else was going on as well. Christiansen wasn't the type to simply escape, even while making it look so easy and making them look like blind fools.

The intercom beeped, breaking him from his reverie.

"_Chief, Doctor Bergonzi is here, and he needs to speak to you immediately._"

"Send him in."

He gave Jean a look, having a feeling that the day was going to be extended considerably.

Bergonzi stepped inside and moved quickly to the desk, setting down a few pages of a report. "We have data missing!"

Jean blinked, surprised. "Missing?"

"Stolen. The computers logged a remote access to the database last night. I did some looking and found all of Jamie Christiansen's data was gone. Everything! Down to the test results from her experimental prosthetics. She does not exist in the system."

A look passed between Lorenzo and Croce, both admitting that they had once again underestimated Christiansen. "What about the back-ups?"

"Hacked as well. I can't even begin to understand how they would have known what to look for, given the technical nature of the filing system. If they were going to harm us, why not the rest of the data?"

Jean was already thinking ahead. "Given the nature of the loss, how long does this set us back on the final phase?"

"A year, maybe a little less. The more serious matter is that with Jamie's complete data, they can make cyborgs, given enough time and resources for reverse-engineering."

There was a knock on the door, likely more news to add to the already outstanding day Lorenzo was having. "Come in!"

Ferro entered, an envelope in her hand and a frown on her face. "A note from Christiansen. A courier delivered it twenty minutes ago."

Lorenzo took it and opened the already-cut flap, withdrawing the single sheet inside. "It reads: 'Jamie belongs to me and only me'. That's it."

"I'm not sure whether that tells us he's insane or just emotional."

Lorenzo wasn't impressed. " It tells me all I need to know, Jean. Find him, and find that data. I don't care how or in what condition."

"Yes sir."

"Americans. Humph!" He crumbled up the paper and tossed it across the room.

Ferro Milani closed the door to her apartment and locked it, sighing as the fatigue of the day, and even the week, seemed to lay heavier on her shoulders. She knew what would help take some of it off, so she undressed quickly, taking time to set aside her suit neatly for the cleaners, and slipped into a warm bath, closing her eyes and relaxing for once. It was hard to be serious all of the time, but it was who she was. She had made a determined effort to shake off all of the relaxed air she had developed courtesy of Michael Christiansen.

It was six months since Michael had made his chaotic, if quiet, escape from the agency. Everyone had been grilled mercilessly by security at Lorenzo's behest.

Everyone except her.

Ferro was beyond reproach. Trusted beyond all others because she was the ultimate professional. Nothing could possibly cause her to make an emotional move.

Nothing except Michael Christiansen...

She nearly fell asleep in the tub, her thinking turning to daydreaming of sorts until she felt as if the world was slipping away into unconsciousness. A reluctant burst of strength helped her get out and towel off, and she slipped into her favorite silk robe, the short one that showed off her curves and no one would ever see her in. She couldn't let anyone get that close.

If there were one other weakness she had to keep from others, it was her habit of drinking milk from the carton right after the bath. She never did it any other time, but somehow it felt right after a bath, along with a few moments of the cable news channel to catch up on anything she might have missed during the day.

The remote was on the table and Ferro switched the TV to an American news outlet, breaking from her usual BBC whimsically. It was that kind of night.

"_In other news, CIA Deputy Director of Operations George Rathbone was killed in an auto accident yesterday on the D.C. inner-belt. The director and his driver were declared dead on the scene after a fuel tanker lost control and flipped over in front of their vehicle, rupturing and catching fire immediately, engulfing their vehicle instantly. The driver of the truck..._"

As she slowly drank from the carton and listened to the story, a drop of water rolled down her neck, but the goose bumps she suddenly had were from another cause, one more alarming.

Ferro slowly lowered the carton and turned to look at the man standing in the kitchen doorway, his pistol leveled at her heart, and maybe a look of amused surprise on his face.

"I knew there was something very erotic about you the moment we met. I had hoped to see it first hand at some point." Michael had to admit, Ferro was definitely easy on the eyes when wearing only a robe.

"What are you doing here, Michael?" Her hand started shaking a little, gently sloshing the milk in the carton. She could not tell whether she was afraid or angry at his intrusion. She was powerless at that moment.

"Lets talk in a more comfortable setting." He motioned her to the bedroom with the gun and her face betrayed a moment of panic, amusing him a little. "Don't worry. I've never had to force anyone to get what I wanted."

She calmed and was able to get her mind moving again, planning ahead the moves necessary to get to her nightstand gun. He let her lead the way into the bedroom and she sat down on the bed next to the nightstand, within reach of her gun if she could only open the drawer.

"I know of a few people who would disagree if you hadn't tortured them to death."

Michael shrugged and smiled. "Touché"

Ferro felt his eyes on her, a discomforting feeling that she had not had in a very long time. Still, a part of her was satisfied with the knowledge that someone felt her to be attractive.

"So..."

He leaned against the door, the gun never wavering from her. He couldn't take chances. "I came to say thank you for the warning." His left hand pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and tossed it into the air, the white paper splotched with vegetable grease from the fries in the bag she had dropped it in. "I had a feeling something was going to happen, but they moved faster than I thought they would. I just barely had time to arrange for my escape."

"If I had known what you were going to take with you, I wouldn't have made the effort. That research was important."

"That research was a person, someone who was close to my heart, and I could not sit by and let them treat her memory or her contribution as mere data."

"You're too emotional!"

"And you're too damned cold. You wouldn't understand how I feel."

Ferro blinked, the statement stabbing her in the heart. Somehow, Michael's rebuke hurt more than she could have expected. She _was_ cold, to everyone. But to hear it from this man made her feel it more.

"No. No, I wouldn't."

Michael nodded, continuing on. "I loved her. I only allowed myself to realize how much at the end, and then it was too late. She left this world knowing how I felt and I was not going to allow anyone else determine what value she had.

Ferro didn't respond to that. There really wasn't anything to say. "So... What are you going to do now?"

Michael stepped closer and sat down on the bed, his gun never leaving her. "Some friends and I have gone into the charity business. We used the CIA cash to open up a missing person's business, specializing in lost kids in human trafficking prone areas. We get a call they're missing, and we look for them until we find them. Usually they're dead, but sometimes they're alive. Regardless, the people behind it are no longer an issue."

She thought back to an Intel report that things had been happening in Amsterdam and other hot spots of Europe, where known gangs were going missing almost overnight. "That's... very American of you."

"I know. But it's what Jamie would have wanted, and it's a worthwhile cause no matter how you look at it. Just the few that we've saved have made the effort worth it. That and the fear in the eyes of their captors..."

Ferro watched Michael's eyes as he said the words, knowing then that he was more dangerous than ever. He didn't just have a taste for blood, but also for power. Gone was the professional operative who could follow orders, and in its place was a professional who gave them and expected results. She admitted to herself that he intimidated her now. The minutes of silence between them were drowned out by the fearful, or was it excited, beating of her heart.

"Why are you here tonight?"

Michael shrugged, letting the gun slip to point at the floor. "Because something told me that I needed to talk to you again, if only to thank you."

It was the way he said the words that made her nervous, the combination of invasions of her security that normally made her feel so strong. Now she felt weak and uncomfortable, enough so that she put her hand on the nightstand, a move that prompted no change in Michael's eyes.

"I'm the only one they don't suspect. Everyone else in the office has been questioned and Lorenzo hasn't figured it out. Seeing the frustration of everyone else because of my impulsive act... I cannot begin to describe how much it bothers me."

"That's because deep down you're a caring person." He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret.

"It's because I'm not the type to go against orders."

"And why did you?" Michael flashed a soft smile... The smile of someone who knew the answer but knew that forcing an answer to it would bend her to his will.

If there were a way for Ferro to mark her life like a report card, that moment in time would have earned a failing grade in self-control, objectiveness, and general intelligence. Her body swayed weakly and indecisively, a product of her instincts and relaxed control telling her to do something her mind would never allow otherwise. Was this power he had over her new?

It was the realization that he had always had it and had been merely suppressing it that snapped her out of her trance enough to slip her hand inside the nightstand and close on the Sig232. Michael had leaned closer already but never stopped as she leveled the gun in his gut. His lips touched hers and she never shied away, her body refusing to even as her mind worked to resist even a little.

The gun in her hand clicked loudly in the silence. It was her last act of resistance against a moment she realized she had been longing for since he had stood up to her in Venice. A part of her mind refused to concede and continued pulling the trigger, even as the rest of her gave in and responded passionately.

Michael finally pulled away and looked at Ferro, her eyes closed and an unmistakable look of unsatisfied longing in her features.

"You're beautiful when you let your humanity show. You should stop trying to hide it."

Her eyes opened and watched him holster his gun and step to the door, pausing to look at her emotionally weakened form, still holding the gun in her hand.

"Don't..." She did not want him to leave; only she could not speak the words.

"Sorry, Ferro, but I only stopped by to say goodbye, and to give you that gift."

"You'll never get out of this country alive." Her threat was a veiled attempt to convince him to stay.

Michael smiled again, a smile of the victor in a long battle, though Ferro could not tell whether it was with himself or an enemy.

"No one can stop me, Ferro. You can't stop someone who is everyone, yet does not exist."

Ferro sat stunned as he left the apartment, the door closing on the most frustrating and intense chapter of her life. He was an enigma, and his actions tonight had only made it crystal clear to her that she would never understand him as she desired to.

"Damn you, Michael Christiansen."

The street was silent as Christiansen stepped calmly to the car that was waiting for him and climbed in.

"All set?" Emily Lanstrom smiled at him in the weak light of the distant streetlamp.

"Yeah." He leaned over and kissed her gently, still warming up to the recently surfaced admission of his feelings for her. Her hand found his and held it, and he dropped the eight rounds of nine-millimeter Browning ammunition that he had taken from Ferro's gun into it.

"Hmm... You kissed her, didn't you?"

"Hm, yes."

Emmy smiled softly and put the car in gear, driving slowly down the darkened street. "One day you'll chase a woman that is not so easily disarmed or overwhelmed. The gun pointed at you will be the last thing you hear. What will your last thoughts be?"

Michael smiled to himself, watching the city move past him. "That I will marry her."

"Interesting."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was through chasing.

For Michael Christiansen, the Light of his life would flicker, but never fade. He had loved and lost, and still he loved again. The Darkness that surrounded him had been washed away by the ever-brightening Light, and having seen the Light from the Darkness, he knew which way to go.

"I love you Emmy." He would never withhold those powerful and priceless words again.

Her eyes darted to him, catching the sincerity in his face with a passing streetlamp. She gave it a moment's thought before deciding to start the game, her smirk of amusement hidden in the darkness.

"I know."

The END


End file.
